TO A COQUETTE.
The Lady was playing the Penserosa, and the Bard rallied her. She suddenly assumed the Allegra, and rallied him in turn. Whereupon he sung as follows:
| Heave no more that breast of snow, With sighs of simulated wo, While Conquest triumphs on thy brow, And Hope, gay laughing in thine eye, Cheers the moments gliding by, Welcomes Joy's voluptuous train, Welcomes Pleasure's jocund reign, And whispers thee of transports yet in store, When fraught with Love's ecstatic pain, Shooting keen through every vein, Thy heart shall thrill with bliss unknown before. But smile not so divinely bright; Nor sport before my dazzled sight, That "prodigality of charms," That winning air, that wanton grace, That pliant form, that beauteous face, Zephyr's step, Aurora's smile; Nor thus in mimic fondness twine, About my neck thy snowy arms; Nor press this faded cheek of mine, Nor seek, by every witching wile, My hopes to raise, my heart to gain, Then laugh my love to scorn, and triumph in my pain. I love thee, Julia! Though the flush Of sprightly youth is flown— Though the bright glance, and rose's blush From eye and cheek and lip are gone— Though Fancy's frolic dreams are fled, Dispelled by sullen care— And Time's gray wing its frost has shed Upon my raven hair— Yet warm within my bosom glows, A heart that recks not winter's snows, But throbs with hope, and heaves with sighs For ruby lips and sparkling eyes; And still—the slave of amorous care— Would make that breast, that couch of Love, its lair. |
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. |