Whose Timidity frequently agitated her, when pressed to gratify her
Friends by her Musical Talents.
’Tis said (and I believe it too)
That genuine merit seeks the shade;
Blushing to think what is her due,
As of her own sweet pow’rs afraid:—
Thus, lovely maid! on fluttering wings,
Thy pow’rs a thousand fears pursue,
Which, like thy own harmonious strings,
When press’d enchant, and tremble too!
The pity, which we give, you owe,
For mutual fears on both attend;
While anxious thus you joy bestow,
We fear too soon that joy will end!
LINES
TO MISS L—— D——.
When Heav’n, sweet Laura! form’d thy mind,
With genius and with taste refin’d,
As if the union were too bright,
It spread the veil of diffidence,
That ev’ry ray, at first intense,
Might shine as soft as lunar light.
To frame a form then Nature strove,
And call’d on Beauty and on Love,
To lodge the mind they priz’d so well:
Completed was the fair design;
Thus blended dew-drops mildly shine
Within the lily’s spotless bell!
LINES[[3]]
Written in a beautiful Spot,
THE FAVOURITE RETREAT OF DELIA.
Streams ever limpid, fresh, and clear,
Where Delia’s charms renew’d appear,
Ye flow’rs that touch’d her snowy breast,
Ye trees whereon she lov’d to rest,
Ye scenes adorn’d where’er she flies,
If grief shall close these woe-worn eyes,
May some kind form, with hand benign,
My body with this earth enshrine,
That, when the fairest nymph shall deign
To visit this delightful plain,
That, when she views my silent shade,
And marks the change her love has made,
The tear may tremble down her face,
As show’rs the lily’s leaves embrace;
Then, like the infant at the breast,
That feels a sorrow unexprest,
That pang shall gentle Delia know,
And silent treasure up her woe.
[3] I am indebted to Petrarch for some of the imagery contained in these Lines.