Upon that face of mortal clay
I will such lively colours lay,
That years to come shall join to seek
All beauty from your modest cheek.
Then, Lydia, why our bark forsake;
The road to western deserts take?
That lip—on which hung half my bliss,
Some savage, now, will bend to kiss;
Some rustic soon, with fierce attack,
May force his arms about that neck;
And you, perhaps, will weeping come
To seek—in vain—your floating home!
[377] There is a discrepancy in the dates given to this poem. It was published in the Freeman's Journal, Sept. 3, 1788, with the preliminary remarks: "The following copy of verses came accidentally into my hands. I am told that it was written by Capt. Freneau and addressed to a young Quaker lady who went passenger in his vessel to Georgia to reside in the western parts of that State. From the New York Daily Advertiser." It was reprinted in the 1795 edition, and in the edition of 1809, where it has the note: "Miss Lydia Morris, a young quaker lady, on her landing from the sloop Industry, at Savannah, in Georgia, December 30th, 1806." I have followed the 1809 text.
TO CYNTHIA[378]
Through Jersey[379] groves, a wandering stream
That still its wonted music keeps,
Inspires no more my evening dream,
Where Cynthia, in retirement, sleeps.
Sweet murmuring stream! how blest art thou
To kiss the bank where she resides,
Where Nature decks the beechen bough
That trembles o'er your shallow tides.
The cypress-tree on Hermit's height,
Where Love his soft addresses paid
By Luna's pale reflected light—
No longer charms me to its shade!
To me, alas! so far removed,
What raptures, once, that scenery gave,
Ere wandering yet from all I loved,
I sought a deeper, drearier wave.