TO A FRIEND REMONSTRATING. Au! chide me not if yet once more I seek that love long sought in vain ; Nor blame me if, while I adore, My vows are answered with disdain. Yes, I confess 'tis poor, 'tis weak To droop, to sit with folded arms, To bear a fever in my cheek, And sorrow for an ingrate's charms. Yet let me still my cares retain, Still droop, with folded arms still sigh; Nor mock me that I still remain The willing captive of her eye. For Love, with all his keenest smart Divine enchantment mingles still ; And, while he fires the conquered heart, He charms with many a pleasing thrill. And tortured thus, thus doomed to mourn, I still must feed this cherished grief, And could my peace once more return, My heart would scorn the poor relief, Then chide me not, if yet once more I seek that love long sought in vain ; Nor blame me if, while I adore, My vows are answered with disdain, TO A LADY SINGING. O can that heart untouched remain By all Love's pleasure, all Love's pain, When, while thou sing'st another's woes, Thy cheek with deeper crimson glows; When, as thou wak'st the feeling strain, Through every clear translucent vein That strays amid thy forehead's snow The streams of life more swiftly flow; When, mixed with many a passioned sigh, Upon thy lips the accents die ; When sweeter languors, softer dews, Those twin bright orbs of light suffuse? And I have seen thy bosom's snow Throb with the luxury of woe; And I have marked the impassioned glance That speaks the soul's delicious trance ; And felt the poison of thine eye; And drank the magic of thy sigh. And, as the sweet infection stole Through all my veins, and fired my soul, I wished one timid glance might tell How deep I felt the subtile spell. Then, Lady, sing of love again; And while thou wak'st the feeling strain, While, mixed with many a passioned sigh, Upon thy lips the accents die, And while again thy bosom's snow Throbs with the luxury of woe, O pour on me the thrilling glance That speaks the soul's delicious trance. And if I dare one look to steal, That look shall tell thee all I feel ;. And, Lady, then thine altered eye Shall feed my hopes, or bid them die. |