THE WISH.
Where’s my Olivia, tell me where?
Oh! could she all my pleasures share;
Oh! could she—— No— That thought restrain,
She must not, shall not share my pain.
How oft with her I’ve rang’d the fields,
Pleas’d with the blessings friendship yields;
Contented then, no more desir’d,
And only sung what it inspir’d.
Soon may she come, and with her bring
That peace which taught me first to sing,
That calm contentment which attends
The gentle intercourse of friends.
’Till then in vain I seek relief,
And sooth, with ev’ry art, my grief;
Friendship alone can grief destroy,
And tune the soul again to joy.
Can bid each flatt’ring hope be still,
To reason’s power subdue the will;
Each feeling of the heart improve,
And guard it from the darts of love.
HENRICUS.
New-York, July 22, 1796.
For the New-York Weekly Magazine.
TO A GENTLEMAN WHO OBLIGED ME TO READ ALOUD,
AND MADE ME PROMISE TO WRITE SOME VERSES.