Fugitive Pieces | Page 4

belov'd, adieu!?Ah! if thou canst o'ercome regret,?Nor let thy mind past joys review,?Our only hope_ is to _forget.
1805.

TO CAROLINE.
You say you love, and yet your eye?No symptom of that love conveys,?You say you love, yet know not why,?Your cheek no sign of love betrays.
2.
Ah! did that breast with ardour glow,?With me alone it joy could know,?Or feel with me the listless woe,?Which racks my heart when far from thee.
3.
Whene'er we meet my blushes rise,?And mantle through my purpled cheek,?But yet no blush to mine replies,?Nor e'en your eyes your love bespeak.
4.
Your voice alone declares your flame,?And though so sweet it breaths my name;?Our passions still are not the same,?Alas! you cannot love like me.
5.
For e'en your lip seems steep'd in snow,?And though so oft it meets my kiss,?It burns with no responsive glow,?Nor melts like mine in dewy bliss.
6.
Ah! what are words to love like mine,?Though uttered by a voice like thine,?I still in murmurs must repine,?And think that love can ne'er be true.
7.
Which meets me with no joyous sign,?Without a sigh which bids adieu;?How different is my love from thine,?How keen my grief when leaving you.
8.
Your image fills my anxious breast,?Till day declines adown the West,?And when, at night, I sink to rest,?In dreams your fancied form I view.
9.
'Tis then your breast, no longer cold,?With equal ardour seems to burn,?While close your arms around me fold,?Your lips my kiss with warmth return.
10.
Ah! would these joyous moments last;?Vain HOPE! the gay delusions past,?That voice!--ah! no, 'tis but the blast,?Which echoes through the neighbouring grove.
11.
But when awake, your lips I seek,?And clasp enraptur'd all your charms,?So chill's the pressure of your cheek,?I fold a statue in my arms.
12.
If thus, when to my heart embrac'd,?No pleasure in your eyes is trac'd,?You may be prudent, fair, and chaste,?But ah! my girl, you do not love.

TO MARIA ----
Since now the hour is come at last,?When you must quit your anxious lover,?Since now, our dream of bliss is past,?One pang, my girl, and all is over.
Alas! that pang will be severe,?Which bids us part, to meet no more;?Which tears me far from one so dear,?Departing for a distant shore.
Well! we have pass'd some happy hours,?And joy will mingle with our tears;?When thinking on these ancient towers,?The shelter of our infant years.
Where from this gothic casement's height,?We view'd the lake, the park, the dell,?And still though tears obstruct our sight,?We lingering look a last farewell.--
O'er fields, through which we us'd to run,?And spend the hours in childish play,?O'er shades where, when our race was done,?Reposing on my breast you lay,
Whilst I, admiring, too remiss,?Forgot to scare the hovering flies,?Yet envied every fly the kiss,?It dar'd to give your slumbering eyes.
See still the little painted bark,?In which I row'd you o'er the lake;?See there, high waving o'er the park,?The elm, I clamber'd for your sake.
These times are past, our joys are gone,?You leave me, leave this happy vale;?These scenes, I must retrace alone,?Without thee, what will they avail.
Who can conceive, who has not prov'd,?The anguish of a last embrace??When torn from all you fondly lov'd,?You bid a long adieu to peace.
This is the deepest of our woes,?For this, these tears our cheeks bedew,?This is of love the final close,?Oh GOD! the fondest, last adieu!
1805.

FRAGMENTS OF SCHOOL EXERCISES, FROM THE PROMETHEUS VINCTUS OF ?SCHYLUS.
Great Jove! to whose Almighty Throne,?Both Gods and mortals homage pay,?Ne'er may my soul thy power disown,?Thy dread behests ne'er disobey.?Oft shall the sacred victim fall,?In sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall;?My voice shall raise no impious strain,?'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main.

How different now thy joyless fate,?Since first Hesione thy bride,?When plac'd aloft in godlike state,?The blushing beauty by thy side.?Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smil'd,?And mirthful strains the hours beguil'd;?The nymphs and Tritons danc'd around,?Nor yet thy doom was fix'd nor Jove relentless frown'd.
HARROW, December 1, 1804.

LINES IN "LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN AND AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN," BY J.J. ROUSSEAU, FOUNDED ON FACTS.
Away, away,--your flattering arts,?May now betray some simpler hearts;?And you_ will _smile at their believing,?And they_ shall _weep at your deceiving.
ANSWER TO THE ABOVE, ADDRESS'D TO MISS ----.
Dear simple girl those flattering arts,?(From which you'd guard frail female hearts,)?Exist but in imagination,?Mere phantoms of your own creation;?For he who sees that witching grace,?That perfect form, that lovely face;?With eyes admiring, oh! believe me,?He never wishes to deceive thee;?Once let you at your mirror glance,?You'll there descry that elegance,?Which from our sex demands such praises,?But envy in the other raises.--?Then he who tells you of your beauty,?Believe me only does his duty;?Ah! fly not from the candid youth,?It is not flattery, but truth.
July, 1804.

ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS, AT A GREAT PUBLIC SCHOOL.
Where are those honours? IDA, once your own,?When Probus fill'd your magisterial throne;?As ancient Rome fast falling to disgrace,?Hail'd a Barbarian in her C?sar's place;?So you degenerate share as