STANZAS,
ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.
The hour full fraught with woes is now arriv’d,
In which I bid thy lovely form farewell;
Sever’d from thee can I the task survive,
O cruel Fate! who I have lov’d so well!
Endless and sharp will be my woes,
No ray of comfort shall I see;
And yet who knows, alas! who knows
If thou wilt ever think of me!
Still will my fond affection hold thee dear,
And sensibility will draw th’ empassion’d tear.
Pensive along the hollow murmuring shore,
Or woods, and wilds, and solitary glades,
Or night’s dull form, or ev’ning’s grateful shades,
Or rocks romantic height, I’ll thee implore.
From the grey twilight’s dawn till ev’ning’s close,
In woods sequester’d I will call on thee;
And yet who knows, alas! alas! who knows
If thou wilt e’er bestow one thought on me.
With cadence soft, the circumambient breeze,
Responsive, bursting through the waving trees;
And echo, repercussive from her cell,
Does sweetly vibrate through the neighb’ring dell,
To bid the mind’s tumultuous passion’s tide,
In Reason’s law, and call recess subside.
To lull the heart-rent pang of Nature’s sigh,
And dry the tear of sensibility,
In these lone solitary wilds I’ll call on thee,
Whilst thou, perhaps, wilt ne’er remember me.
There Nature, goddess of the heart,
Shall ev’ry tender wish reclaim;
Her healing balm she will impart,
And ease my bosom of its pain.
There, wrapt in meditation’s calm repose,
My heart shall only weep for others woes.
Adieu, dear maid! and may each hour
Heav’n’s choicest gifts upon you show’r!
May happiness shine in each day,
And truth and virtue light your way!
While I will never cease to think of thee,
Though thou, perhaps, wilt ne’er remember me.
CYNTHIO.