TO MARIA ——
Since now the hour is come at last,
When you must quit your anxious lover,
Since now, our dream of bliss is past,
One pang, my girl, and all is over.
Alas! that pang will be severe,
Which bids us part, to meet no more;
Which tears me far from one so dear,
Departing for a distant shore.
Well! we have pass'd some happy hours,
And joy will mingle with our tears;
When thinking on these ancient towers,
The shelter of our infant years.
Where from this gothic casement's height,
We view'd the lake, the park, the dell,
And still though tears obstruct our sight,
We lingering look a last farewell.—
O'er fields, through which we us'd to run,
And spend the hours in childish play,
O'er shades where, when our race was done,
Reposing on my breast you lay,
Whilst I, admiring, too remiss,
Forgot to scare the hovering flies,
Yet envied every fly the kiss,
It dar'd to give your slumbering eyes.
See still the little painted bark,
In which I row'd you o'er the lake;
See there, high waving o'er the park,
The elm, I clamber'd for your sake.
These times are past, our joys are gone,
You leave me, leave this happy vale;
These scenes, I must retrace alone,
Without thee, what will they avail.
Who can conceive, who has not prov'd,
The anguish of a last embrace?
When torn from all you fondly lov'd,
You bid a long adieu to peace.
This is the deepest of our woes,
For this, these tears our cheeks bedew,
This is of love the final close,
Oh GOD! the fondest, last adieu!
1805.
FRAGMENTS OF SCHOOL EXERCISES, FROM THE PROMETHEUS VINCTUS OF ÆSCHYLUS.
Great Jove! to whose Almighty Throne,
Both Gods and mortals homage pay,
Ne'er may my soul thy power disown,
Thy dread behests ne'er disobey.
Oft shall the sacred victim fall,
In sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall;
My voice shall raise no impious strain,
'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main.
How different now thy joyless fate,
Since first Hesione thy bride,
When plac'd aloft in godlike state,
The blushing beauty by thy side.
Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smil'd,
And mirthful strains the hours beguil'd;
The nymphs and Tritons danc'd around,
Nor yet thy doom was fix'd nor Jove relentless frown'd.
HARROW, December 1, 1804.
LINES in "LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN AND AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN," by J.J. ROUSSEAU, founded on Facts.
Away, away,—your flattering arts,
May now betray some simpler hearts;
And you will smile at their believing,
And they shall weep at your deceiving.
Answer to the above, address'd to Miss ——.
Dear simple girl those flattering arts,
(From which you'd guard frail female hearts,)
Exist but in imagination,
Mere phantoms of your own creation;
For he who sees that witching grace,
That perfect form, that lovely face;
With eyes admiring, oh! believe me,
He never wishes to deceive thee;
Once let you at your mirror glance,
You'll there descry that elegance,
Which from our sex demands such praises,
But envy in the other raises.—
Then he who tells you of your beauty,
Believe me only does his duty;
Ah! fly not from the candid youth,
It is not flattery, but truth.
July, 1804.
