Author tells me they were written in one of his despairing Fits; and I find entertains some Hope that his Mistress may pity such a Passion as he has described, before she knows that she is herself
Corinna.
Conceal, fond Man, conceal the mighty Smart,
Nor tell Corinna she has fir'd thy Heart.
In vain would'st thou complain, in vain pretend
To ask a Pity which she must not lend.
She's too much thy Superior to comply,
And too too fair to let thy Passion dye.
Languish in Secret, and with dumb Surprize
Drink the resistless Glances of her Eyes.
At awful Distance entertain thy Grief,
Be still in Pain, but never ask Relief.
Ne'er tempt her Scorn of thy consuming State;
Be any way undone, but fly her Hate.
Thou must submit to see thy Charmer bless
Some happier Youth that shall admire her less;
Who in that lovely Form, that Heavenly Mind,
Shall miss ten thousand Beauties thou could'st find;
Who with low Fancy shall approach her Charms,
While half enjoy'd she sinks into his Arms.
She knows not, must not know, thy nobler Fire,
Whom she, and whom the Muses do inspire;
Her Image only shall thy Breast employ,
And fill thy captiv'd Soul with Shades of joy;
Direct thy Dreams by Night, thy Thoughts by Day;
And never, never, from thy Bosom stray[2].
Footnote 1:
See Nos.
,