For see, Euridice attends thy strain;
Her smile, a prize beyond the conjuror's aim-
Superior to the cancell'd breath of fame.
From her sweet brow to chase the gloom of care,
To check that tear that dims the beaming eye,
To bid her heart the rising sigh forbear,
And flush her orient cheek with brighter joy,
In that dear breast soft sympathy to move,
And touch the springs of rapture and of love!
Ah me! how long bewilder'd and astray,
Lost and benighted, did my footsteps rove, Till, sent by heav'n to cheer my pathless way, A star arose-the radiant star of love. The God propitious join'd our willing hands, And Hymen wreath'd us in his rosy bands. Yet not the beaming eye, or placid brow, Or golden tresses, hid the subtle dart; To charms superior far than those I bow, And nobler worth enslaves my vanquish'd heart; The beauty, elegance, and grace combin'd, 29 Which beam transcendant from that angel mind; While vulgar passions-meteors of a day, Expire before the chilling blasts of age, Our holy flame, with pure and steady ray,
Its glooms shall brighten, and its pangs assuage; By Virtue (sacred vestal) fed, shall shine, And warm our fainting souls with energy divine.
ON HER ENDEAVOURING TO CONCEAL
HER GRIEF AT PARTING
[Written 1754 (?). Published by Croft, 1825.]
AH! wherefore should my weeping maid suppress
Those gentle signs of undissembled woe?
When from soft love proceeds the deep distress,
Ah! why forbid the willing tears to flow?
Since for my sake each dear translucent drop
Breaks forth, best witness of thy truth sincere,
My lips should drink the precious mixture up,
And, ere it falls, receive the trembling tear.
Trust me, these symptoms of thy faithful heart,
In absence, shall my dearest hopes sustain,
Delia since such thy sorrow that we part,
Such when we meet thy joy shall be again.
21 way Bruce: ray Croft.
Hard is that heart and unsubdued by love
That feels no pain, nor ever heaves a sigh,
Such hearts the fiercest passions only prove,
Or freeze in cold insensibility.
Oh! then indulge thy grief, nor fear to tell
The gentle source from whence thy sorrows flow! Nor think it weakness when we love to feel, Nor think it weakness what we feel to show.
[Written at Berkhamstead 1754 (?). Published by Croft, 1825.] BID adieu, my sad heart, bid adieu to thy peace, Thy pleasure is past, and thy sorrows increase; See the shadows of ev'ning how far they extend, And a long night is coming, that never may end; For the sun is now set that enliven'd the scene, And an age must be past ere it rises again. Already depriv'd of its splendour and heat, I feel thee more slowly, more heavily beat; Perhaps overstrain'd with the quick pulse of plea
Thou art glad of this respite to beat at thy leisure; But the sigh of distress shall now weary thee more Than the flutter and tumult of passion before.
The heart of a lover is never at rest,
With joy overwhelm'd, or with sorrow oppress'd:
When Delia is near, all is ecstasy then,
And I even forget I must lose her again :
When absent, as wretched as happy before,
Despairing I cry, I shall see her no more.
WRITTEN AFTER LEAVING HER AT
NEW BURNS
[Written at Berkhamstead 1754 (?). Published by Croft, 1825.]
How quick the change from joy to woe,
How chequer'd is our lot below!
Seldom we view the prospect fair;
Dark clouds of sorrow, pain, and care,
(Some pleasing intervals between,)
Scowl over more than half the scene.
Last week with Delia, gentle maid!
Far hence in happier fields I stray'd,
While on her dear enchanting tongue
Soft sounds of grateful welcome hung,
For absence had withheld it long.
For see, Euridice attends thy strain;
Her smile, a prize beyond the conjuror's aim-
Superior to the cancell'd breath of fame.
From her sweet brow to chase the gloom of care,
To check that tear that dims the beaming eye,
To bid her heart the rising sigh forbear,
And flush her orient cheek with brighter joy,
In that dear breast soft sympathy to move,
And touch the springs of rapture and of love!
Ah me! how long bewilder'd and astray,
Lost and benighted, did my footsteps rove, Till, sent by heav'n to cheer my pathless way, A star arose the radiant star of love. The God propitious join'd our willing hands, And Hymen wreath'd us in his rosy bands. Yet not the beaming eye, or placid brow, Or golden tresses, hid the subtle dart; To charms superior far than those I bow, And nobler worth enslaves my vanquish'd heart; The beauty, elegance, and grace combin'd, Which beam transcendant from that angel mind; While vulgar passions-meteors of a day, Expire before the chilling blasts of age, Our holy flame, with pure and steady ray,
Its glooms shall brighten, and its pangs assuage; By Virtue (sacred vestal) fed, shall shine, And warm our fainting souls with energy divine.
ON HER ENDEAVOURING TO CONCEAL
HER GRIEF AT PARTING
[Written 1754 (?). Published by Croft, 1825.]
AH! wherefore should my weeping maid suppress
Those gentle signs of undissembled woe?
When from soft love proceeds the deep distress,
Ah! why forbid the willing tears to flow?
Since for my sake each dear translucent drop
Breaks forth, best witness of thy truth sincere,
My lips should drink the precious mixture up,
And, ere it falls, receive the trembling tear.
Trust me, these symptoms of thy faithful heart,
In absence, shall my dearest hopes sustain,
Delia ! since such thy sorrow that we part,
Such when we meet thy joy shall be again.
21 way Bruce: ray Croft.
Hard is that heart and unsubdued by love
That feels no pain, nor ever heaves a sigh,
Such hearts the fiercest passions only prove,
Or freeze in cold insensibility.
Oh! then indulge thy grief, nor fear to tell
The gentle source from whence thy sorrows flow! Nor think it weakness when we love to feel,
Nor think it weakness what we feel to show.
[Written at Berkhamstead 1754 (?). Published by Croft, 1825.] BID adieu, my sad heart, bid adieu to thy peace, Thy pleasure is past, and thy sorrows increase; See the shadows of ev'ning how far they extend, And a long night is coming, that never may end; For the sun is now set that enliven'd the scene, And an age must be past ere it rises again. Already depriv'd of its splendour and heat, I feel thee more slowly, more heavily beat; Perhaps overstrain'd with the quick pulse of plea
Thou art glad of this respite to beat at thy leisure; But the sigh of distress shall now weary thee more Than the flutter and tumult of passion before.
The heart of a lover is never at rest,
With joy overwhelm'd, or with sorrow oppress'd:
When Delia is near, all is ecstasy then,
And I even forget I must lose her again :
When absent, as wretched as happy before,
Despairing I cry, I shall see her no more.
WRITTEN AFTER LEAVING HER AT
NEW BURNS
[Written at Berkhamstead 1754 (?). Published by Croft, 1825.]
How quick the change from joy to woe,
How chequer'd is our lot below!
Seldom we view the prospect fair;
Dark clouds of sorrow, pain, and care,
(Some pleasing intervals between,)
Scowl over more than half the scene.
Last week with Delia, gentle maid!
Far hence in happier fields I stray'd,
While on her dear enchanting tongue
Soft sounds of grateful welcome hung,
For absence had withheld it long.
Thy arm supports me to the fountain's brink,
Where, by some secret pow'r forbid to drink,
Gasping with thirst, I view the tempting flood
That flies my touch, or thickens into mud,
Till thine own hand immerg'd the goblet dips,
And bears it streaming to my burning lips;
There borne aloft on Fancy's wing we fly,
Like souls embodied to their native sky;
Now ev'ry rock, each mountain, disappears,
And the round earth an even surface wears;
When lo! the force of some resistless weight
Bears me straight down from that pernicious height;
Parting, in vain our struggling arms we close;
Abhorred forms, dire phantoms interpose;
With trembling voice on thy lov'd name I call,
And gulphs yawn ready to receive my fall;
From these fallacious visions of distress
I wake; nor are my real sorrows less.
Thy absence, Delia! heightens every ill,
And gives e'en trivial pains the pow'r to kill.
Oh! wert thou near me; yet that wish forbear!
'Twere vain, my love-'twere vain to wish thee near;
Thy tender heart would heave with anguish too,
And by partaking but increase my woe.
Alone I'll grieve, till, gloomy sorrow past,
Health, like the cheerful day-spring, comes at lastComes fraught with bliss to banish ev'ry pain, Hope, joy, and peace, and Delia in her train!
[Written 1755. Published by Croft, 1825.]
ME to whatever state the Gods assign,
Believe, my love, whatever state be mine,
Ne'er shall my breast one anxious sorrow know,
Ne'er shall my heart confess a real woe;
If to thy share heav'n's choicest blessings fall,
As thou hast virtue to deserve them all.
Yet vain, alas! that idle hope would be
That builds on happiness remote from thee.
Oh! may thy charms, whate'er our fate decrees,
Please, as they must, but let them only please— 10
Not like the sun with equal influence shine,
Nor warm with transport any heart but mine.
Ye who from wealth th' ill-grounded title boast
To claim whatever beauty charms you most;
Ye sons of fortune, who consult alone
Her parents' will, regardless of her own,
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