Sidor som bilder
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TO CAROLINE

You say you love, and yet your eye

No symptom of that love conveys; You say you love, yet know not why, Your cheek no sign of love betrays. Ah! did that breast with ardour glow, With me alone it joy could know, Or feel with me the listless woe, Which racks my heart when far from thee. Whene'er we meet my blushes rise,

And mantle through my purpled cheek; But yet no blush to mine replies,

Nor e'en your eyes your love bespeak. Your voice alone declares your flame, And though so sweet it breathes my name, Our passions still are not the same;

Alas! you can not love like me.

For e'en your lip seems steep'd in snow, And though so oft it meets my kiss, It burns with no responsive glow,

Nor melts like mine in dewy bliss.

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Ah! though myself, by nature haughty, wild, Whom Indiscretion hail'd her favourite child; Though every error stamps me for her

own,

And dooms my fall, I fain would fall alone; Though my proud heart no precept now can tame,

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I love the virtues which I cannot claim. 'Tis not enough, with other sons of power,

To gleam the lambent meteor of an hour; To swell some peerage page in feeble pride, With long-drawn names that grace no page beside;

Then share with titled crowds the common lot

In life just gazed at, in the grave forgot; While naught divides thee from the vulgar dead

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Except the dull cold stone that hides thy head, The mouldering 'scutcheon, or the herald's roll,

That well-emblazon'd but neglected scroll, Where lords, unhonour'd, in the tomb may find

One spot, to leave a worthless name behind.
There sleep, unnoticed as the gloomy vaults
That veil their dust, their follies, and their
faults,

A race, with old armorial lists o'erspread,
In records destined never to be read.
Fain would I view thee, with prophetic
eyes,
Exalted more among the good and wise, 60
A glorious and a long career pursue,
As first in rank, the first in talent too:
Spurn every vice, each little meanness shun;
Not Fortune's minion, but her noblest son.
Turn to the annals of a former day;
Bright are the deeds thine earlier sires
display.
One, though a courtier, lived a man of
worth,
And call'd, proud boast! the British drama
forth.

Another view, not less renown'd for wit; 69 Alike for courts, and camps, or senates fit; Bold in the field, and favour'd by the Nine; In every splendid part ordain'd to shine; Far, far distinguish'd from the glittering throng,

The pride of princes, and the boast of song.

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Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue,

And gild their pinions as the moments flew; Peace, that reflection never frown'd away, By dreams of ill to cloud some future day; Friendship, whose truth let childhood only tell,

Alas! they love not long, who love so well. To these adieu! nor let me linger o'er Scenes hail'd, as exiles hail their native shore, Receding slowly through the dark-blue deep,

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Beheld by eyes that mourn yet cannot weep. Dorset, farewell! I will not ask one part Of sad remembrance in so young a heart; The coming morrow from thy youthful mind

Will sweep my name, nor leave a trace be

hind.

And yet, perhaps, in some maturer year, Since chance has thrown us in the self-same sphere,

Since the same senate, nay, the same debate, May one day claim our suffrage for the state,

We hence may meet, and pass each other by,
With faint regard, or cold and distant eye.
For me, in future, neither friend nor foe, 101
A stranger to thyself, thy weal or woe,
With thee no more again I hope to trace
The recollection of our early race;
No more, as once, in social hours rejoice,
Or hear, unless in crowds, thy well-known
voice.

Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught
To veil those feelings which perchance it
ought,
If these, but let me cease the lengthen'd
strain, -
Oh! if these wishes are not breathed in
vain,

110

The guardian seraph who directs thy fate Will leave thee glorious, as he found thee great. 1805.

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