Deceived in all; for meanness could deceive,
Expecting still, and still condemned to grieve,
She scarcely saw—to different hearts allied
That her dear Florio ne'er pursued a bride!
Are griefs, like thine, to Florio's bosom known?—
Must these, alas! be ceaseless in your own?
Life is a dream!—its varying shades I see;
But this cold wanderer hardly dreams of thee—
The bloom of health, which bade all hearts adore,
To your pale cheek what physic shall restore?
Vain are those drugs that art and love prepares,
No art redeems the waste of sighs and tears!
[334] Published in the 1795 edition under the title "The Mourning Nun." Text from the edition of 1809.
AMANDA IN A CONSUMPTION[335]
Smit by the glance of your bright eyes
When I, Amanda, fondly gaze,
Strange feelings in my bosom rise
And passion all my reason sways:
Worlds I would banish from my view,
And quit the gods—to talk with you.
The smile that decks your fading cheek,
To me a heavy heart declares;
When you are silent I would speak
But cowardice alarms my fears:
All must be sense that you do prize,
All that I say—be grave and wise.
When wandering in the evening shade
I shared her pain, and calmed her grief,
A thousand tender things I said,
But all I said gave no relief:
When from her hair I dried the dew,
She sighed, and said—I am not for you!
When drooping, dull, and almost dead
With fevers brought from sultry climes,
She would not wrap my fainting head;
But recommended me some rhymes
On patience and on fortitude,
And other things—less understood.
When, aiming to engage her heart
With verses from the muses' stock;
She sighed, regardless of the art,
And counted seconds by the clock;
"And thus, (she said) will verse decay,
"And thus the muse will pass away!"