The happy Swain! The ne'er can be
Falfe to him, or kind to me.
Yet, if I could humbly fhow her,
Ah! how wretched I remain;
Tis not, fure, a thing below her,
Still to pity fo much pain.
The Gods fome pleasure, pleasure take,
Happy as themselves to make
Those who fuffer for their fake.
Since your hand alone was giv'n
To a wretch not worth your care,
Like fome Angel fent from heav'n,
Come and raise me from despair!
Your heart I cannot, cannot mifs
And I defire no other blifs;
Let all the world befides be his.
LI hopeless of relief,
Incapable of rest,
In vain I ftrive to vent a grief¿
That's not to be expreft.
This rage within my veins
No reafon can remove;
Of all the mind's most cruel pains,
The fharpeft fure is love."
Yet while I languish fo',
And on thee vainly call;"
Take heed, fair caufe of all my woe,
What fate may thee befall.
Hereafter, how will guilty thoughts
Thy tender confcience vex!:
When welcome death fhall bring
Relief to wretched me,
My foul enlarg'd; and once on wing,
In hafte will fly to thee.
When in thy lonely bed
My ghoft its moan fhall make
With faddeft figns that I am dead,
And dead for thy dear fake.
Struck with that conscious blow,
Thy very foul will start;
Pale as my fhadow thou wilt
And cold as is thy heart.
Too late remorfe will then
Untimely pity fhow,
To him, who of all mortal men
Yet, with this broken heart, A
I wish thou never be ov Tormented with the thoufand part Of what I feel for thee.
On apprehenfion of lofing what
he had newly gain'd.
In imitation of Ovid.
Ure I of all men am the firft
That ever was by kindness curft,
Who must my only blifs bemoan,
And am by happiness undone.
Had I at diftance only feen
That lovely face, I might have been
With the delightfull object pleas'd,
But not with all this paffion feis'd,
When afterwards fo near I came,
As to be fcorch'd in beauty's flame;
To fo much foftnefs, fo much sense,
Reason it felf made no defence.
What pleafing thoughts poffeft my mind
When little favours fhew'd you kind:
And tho' when coldness oft prevail'd,
My heart would fink, and fpirits fail'd,
Yet willingly the yoke I bore,
And all your chains as bracelets wore:
At your lov'd feet all day would lie,
Defiring, without knowing why;
For, not yet bleft within your arms,
Who could bave thought of half your charms.
Charms of fuch a wondrous kind,
Words we cannot, must not find,
A body worthy of your mind:
Fancy could ne'er fo high reflect,
Nor love it felf fuch joys expect.
After fuch embraces past,
Whofe memory will ever laft,
Love is ftill reflecting back,
All my foul is on a rack:
To be in Hell's fufficient curse,
But to fall from Heav'n is worse.
I liv'd in grief e'er this I knew,
But then I dwelt in darkness too.
Of gains, alas, I could not boast,
But little thought how much I loft.
Now heart-devouring eagerness,
And fharp impatience to poffefs,
Now reftless cares, confuming fires,
Anxious thoughts, and fierce defires,
Tear my heart to that degree,
For ever flx'd on only thee,
That all my comfort is, I fhall
Live in thy arms, or not at all.
Ome, let us now refolve at last
To live and love in quiet;
We'll tie the knot fo very fast,
That time shall ne'er untie it.
The trueft joys they feldom prove,
Who free from quarrels live;
Tis the most tender part of love,
Each other to forgive.
When leaft 1 feem'd concern'd, I took
No pleasure, nor no reft;
And when I feign'd an angry look,
Alas, I lov'd you best,
Own but the fame to me, you'll find
How bleft will be our fate;
Oh, to be happy, to be kind,
Sure never is too late.
Rom all uneafy paffions free,
Revenge, ambition, jealoufy;
Contented I had been too bleft;
If love and you had let me rest.
Yet that dull life I now defpife;
Safe from your eyes,
I fear'd no griefs, but then I found no joys.
Amidft a thoufand kind defires,
Which beauty moves, and love inspires;
Such pangs I feel of tender fear,
No heart fo foft as mine can bear.
Yet I'll defy the worst of harms,
Such are your charms,
Tis worth a life to die within your arms.
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