TO A FRIEND REMONSTRATING. AH! chide me not if yet once more Yes, I confess 'tis poor, 'tis weak 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 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 And I have marked the' impassioned glance Through all my veins, and fired my soul, Then, Lady, sing of love again; And while thou wak'st the feeling strain, And while again thy bosom's snow O pour on me the thrilling glance That look shall tell thee all I feel;. |