For, trust me, they who never melt
With pity, never melt with love;
And they will frown at all I've felt,
And all my loving lays reprove.
But if, perhaps, some gentler mind,
Which rather loves to praise than blame,
Should in my page an interest find,
And linger kindly on my name;
Tell him,-or, oh! if, gentler still,
By female lips my name be blest:
Ah! where do all affections thrill
So sweetly as in woman's breast?—
Tell her, that he whose loving themes
Her eye indulgent wanders o'er,
Could sometimes wake from idle dreams,
And bolder flights of fancy sore;
That Glory oft would claim the lay,
And Friendship oft his numbers move;
But whisper then, that, "sooth to say,
His sweetest song was given to Love!"
TO THE LARGE AND BEAUTIFUL MISS
IN ALLUSION TO SOME PARTNERSHIP IN A LOTTERY SHARE.
IN wedlock a species of lottery lies,
Where in blanks and in prizes we deal:
But how comes it that you, such a capital prize
Should so long have remained on the wheel!
If ever, by fortune's indulgent decree,
To me such a ticket should roll,
A sixteenth, Heaven knows! were sufficient for me;
For what could I do with the whole?
AND do I then wonder that Julia deceives me,
When surely there's nothing in nature more common?
She vows to be true, and while vowing she leaves me-
But could I expect any more from a woman?
O woman! your heart is a pitiful treasure;
And Mohammed's doctrine was not too severe,
When he thought you were only materials of pleasure, And reason and thinking were out of your sphere. By your heart, when the fond sighing lover can win it, He thinks that an age of anxiety's paid;
But, oh! while he's blest, let him die on the minuteIf he live but a day, he'll be surely betray'd.
THOUGH Fate, my girl, may bid us part,
Our souls it cannot, shall not sever;
The heart will seek its kindred heart,
And cling to it as close as ever.
But must we, must we part indeed?
Is all our dream of rapture over?
And does not Julia's bosom bleed
To leave so dear, so fond a lover?
Does she too mourn?-Perhaps she may;
Perhaps she weeps our blisses fleeting ·
But why is Julia's eye so gay,
If Julia's heart like mine is beating?
I oft have loved the brilliant glow
Of rapture in her blue eye streaming-
But can the bosom bleed with woe,
While joy is in the glances beaming?
No, no!-Yet, love, I will not chide,
Although your heart were fond of roving :
Nor that, nor all the world beside,
Could keep your faithful boy from loving.
You'll soon be distant from his eye,
And, with you, all that's worth possessing.
Oh! then it will be sweet to die,
When life has lost its only blessing!
IN vain we fondly strive to trace
The soul's reflection in the face;
IN vain we dwell on lines and crosses,
Crooked mouth, or short probosis;
Boobies have look'd as wise and bright
As Plato or the Stagirite:
And many a sage and learned skull
Has peep'd through windows dark and dull!
Since then, though art do all it can,
We ne'er can reach the inward man,
Nor inward woman, from without,
(Though, ma'am, you smile, as if in doubt,)
I think 'twere well if Nature could
(And Nature could, if Nature would)
Some pretty short descriptions write,
In tablets large, in black and white,
Which she might hang about our throttles,
Like labels upon physic-bottles.
There we might read of all-But stay
As learned dialectics say,
The argument most apt and ample
For common use is the example.
For instance, then, if Nature's care
Had not arranged those traits so fair,
Which speak the soul of Lucy L-nd-n,
This is the label she'd have pinn'd on-
Within this vase there lies enshrined
The purest, brightest gem of mind!
Though Feeling's hand may sometimes throw
Upon its charms the shade of woe,
The lustre of the gem, when veil'd,
Shall be but mellow'd, not conceal'd.
Now, sirs, imagine, if you're able,
That Nature wrote a second label,
They 're her own words- at least suppose so-
And boldly pin it on Pomposo—
When I composed the fustian brain
Of this redoubted Captain Vain,
I had at hand but few ingredients,
And so was forced to use expedients.
I put therein some small discerning,
A grain of sense, a grain of learning;
And when I saw the void behind,
I fill'd it up with-froth and wind!
SWEET lady! look not thus again:
Those little pouting smiles recall
A maid remember'd now with pain,
Who was my love, my life, my all!
Oh! while this heart delirious took
Sweet poison from her thrilling eye,
Thus would she pout, and lisp, and look,
And I would hear, and gaze, and sigh!
Yes, I did love her-madly love-
She was the sweetest, best deceiver !
And oft she swore she'd never rove!
And I was destined to believe her!
Then, lady, do not wear the smile
Of her whose smile could thus betray;
Alas! I think the lovely wile
Again might steal my heart away.
And when the spell that stole my mind
On lips so pure as thine I see,
I fear the heart which she resign'd
Will err again, and fly to thee !
Mock me no more with love's beguiling dream,
A dream, I find, illusory as sweet:
One smile of friendship, nay, of cold esteem,
Is dearer far than passion's bland deceit !
I've heard you oft eternal truth declare;
Your heart was only mine, I once believed. Ah! shall I say that all your vows were air! And must I say, my hopes were all deceived? Vow, then, no longer that our souls are twined, That all our joys are felt with mutual zeal! Julia! 'tis pity, pity makes you kind;
You know I love, and you would seem to feel.
DOES the harp of Rosa slumber?
Once it breathed the sweetest number!
Never does a wilder song
Steal the breezy lyre along,
When the wind, in odours dying,
Woos it with enamour'd sighing.
Does the harp of Rosa cease?
Once it told a tale of peace
To her lover's throbbing breast-
Then he was divinely blest!
Ah! but Rosa loves no more,
Therefore Rosa's song is o'er;
And her harp neglected lies;
And her boy forgotten sighs.
Silent harp-forgotten lover—
Rosa's love and song are over!
OUR hearts, my love, were doom'd to be
The genuine twins of sympathy:
They live with one sensation :
In joy or grief, but most in love,
Our heart-strings musically move,
And thrill with like vibration.
How often have I heard thee say,
Thy vital pulse shall cease to play
When mine no more is moving!
Since, now, to feel a joy alone
Were worse to thee than feeling none :
Such sympathy in loving!
I SAW the peasant's hand unkind
From yonder oak the ivy sever;
They seem'd in very being twined;
Yet now the oak is fresh as ever.
Not so the widow'd ivy shines:
Torn from its dear and only stay,
In drooping widowhood it pines,
And scatters all its blooms away! Thus, Julia, did our hearts entwine, Till fate disturb'd their tender ties: Thus gay indifference blooms in thine, While mine, deserted, droops and dies!
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