TO THE SAME.
| Shade! O shade those looks of light; The thrilling sense can bear no more! Veil those beauties from my sight, Which to see is to adore. That dimpled cheek, whose spotless white, The rays of Love's first dawning light, Tinge with Morning's rosy blush, And cast a warm and glowing flush, Even on thy breast of snow, And in thy bright eyes sparkling dance, And through the waving tresses glance That shade thy polished brow Who can behold, nor own thy power? Who can behold, and not adore? But like the wretch, who, doomed to endless pain, Raises to realms of bliss his aching eyes, To Heaven uplifts his longing arms in vain While in his tortured breast new pangs arise— Thus while at thy feet I languish, Stung with Love's voluptuous anguish, The smile that would my hopes revive, The witching glance that bids me live Shed on my heart one fleeting ray, One gleam of treacherous Hope display; But soon again in deep Despair I pine: The dreadful truth returns: "Thou never wilt be mine." Then shade! O shade those looks of light; The thrilling sense can bear no more! Veil those beauties from my sight, Which to see is to adore. But stay! O yet awhile refrain! Forbear! And let me gaze again! Still at thy feet impassioned let me lie, Tranced by the magic of thy thrilling eye; Thy soft melodious voice still let me hear, Pouring its melting music on my ear; And, while my eager lip, with transport bold, Presumptuous seeks thy yielded hand to press, Still on thy charms enraptured let me gaze, Basking ecstatic in thy beauty's blaze, Such charms 'twere more than Heaven to possess: 'Tis Heaven only to behold. |