Fugitive Pieces | Page 8

confine;?Than all th' unmeaning protestations,?Which swell with nonsense, love orations.?Our love is fix'd, I think we've prov'd it,?Nor time, nor place, nor art, have mov'd it;?Then wherefore should we sigh, and whine,?With groundless jealousy repine.?With silly whims, and fancies frantic,?Merely to make our love romantic.?Why should you weep like Lydia Languish,?And fret with self-created anguish.?Or doom the lover you have chosen,?On winter nights, to sigh half frozen:?In leafless shades, to sue for pardon,?Only because the scene's a garden.?For gardens seem by one consent?(Since SHAKESPEARE set the precedent;)?(Since Juliet first declar'd her passion)?To form the place of assignation.?Oh! would some modern muse inspire,?And seat her by a sea-coal fire,?Or had the bard at Christmas written,?And laid the scene of love in Britain;?He surely in commiseration,?Had chang'd the place of declaration.?In Italy I've no objection,?Warm nights are proper for reflection;?But here, our climate is so rigid,?That love itself, is rather frigid;?Think on our chilly situation,?And curb this rage for imitation.?Then let us meet, as oft we've done,?Beneath the influence of the sun;?Or, if at midnight I must meet you,?Oh! let me in your chamber greet you;?There we can love for hours together,?Much better in such snowy weather,?Than plac'd in all th' Arcadian groves,?That ever witness'd rural loves;?There if my passion fail to please,?Next night I'll be content to freeze;?No more I'll give a loose to laughter,?But curse my fate, forever after.

TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER.
Sweet girl! though only once we met,?That meeting I shall ne'er forget;?And though we ne'er may meet again,?Remembrance will thy form retain;?I would not say, "I love" but still?My senses struggle with my will;?In vain to drive thee from my breast,?My thoughts are more and more represt,?In vain, I check the rising sighs,?Another to the last replies;?Perhaps this is not love, but yet?Our meeting I can ne'er forget.
What though we never silence broke,?Our eyes a sweeter language spoke;?The tongue in flattering falsehood deals,?And tells a tale, it never feels;?Deceit, the guilty lips impart,?And hush the mandates of the heart,?But soul's interpreters, the eyes?Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise.?As thus our glances oft convers'd,?And all our bosoms felt, rehears'd,?No spirit from within reprov'd us,?Say rather, "'twas the spirit mov'd us."?Though what they utter'd, I repress,?Yet, I conceive, thou'lt partly guess;?For, as on thee, my memory ponders,?Perchance, to me thine also wanders;?This for myself, at least I'll say,?Thy form appears through night, through day,?Awake, with it my fancy teems,?In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams;?The vision charms the hours away,?And bids me curse Aurora's ray;?For breaking slumbers of delight,?Which make me wish for endless night.?Since, oh! whate'er my future fate,?Shall joy or woe my steps await;?Tempted by love, by storms beset,?Thine image, I can ne'er forget.
Alas! again no more we meet,?No more our former looks repeat;?Then let me breathe this parting prayer,?The dictate of my bosom's care:?"May Heaven so guard my lovely quaker,?"That anguish never can o'ertake her;?"That peace and virtue ne'er forsake her,?"But bliss be aye, her heart's partaker:?"No jealous passion shall invade,?"No envy that pure breast pervade;"?For he that revels in such charms,?Can never seek another's arms;?"Oh! may the happy mortal fated,?"To be by dearest ties related;?"For her_ each hour _new joy discover,?"And lose the husband in the lover.?"May that fair bosom never know?"What 'tis to feel the restless woe;?"Which stings the soul, with vain regret,?"Of him, who never can forget."

TO JULIA!
Julia! since far from you I've rang'd,?Our souls with fond affection glow not;?You say 'tis I, not you have chang'd,?I'd tell you why,--but yet I know not.
2.
Your polish'd brow, no cares have crost,?And Julia! we are not much older,?Since trembling first my heart I lost,?Or told my love with hope, grown bolder.
3.
Sixteen was then our utmost age,?Two years have lingering pass'd away, love!?And now new thoughts our minds engage,?At least, _I_ feel disposed to stray, love!
4.
'Tis _I_, that am alone to blame,?_I_, that am guilty of love's treason;?Since your sweet breast, is still the same,?Caprice must be my only reason.
5.
I do not, love, suspect your truth,?With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not,?Warm was the passion of my youth,?One trace of dark deceit it leaves not.
6.
No, no, my flame was not pretended,?For oh! I lov'd you most sincerely,?And though our dream at last is ended,?My bosom still esteems you dearly.
7.
No more we meet in yonder bowers,?Perhaps my soul's too prone to roving,?But older, firmer hearts than ours,?Have found monotony in loving.
8.
Your cheeks soft bloom is unimpair'd,?Your beauties still are daily bright'ning,?Your eye for conquest comes prepar'd,?The forge of love's resistless lightning.
9.
Arm'd thus to make their bosoms bleed,?Many will throng to sigh like me, love,?More constant they may prove indeed,?Fonder alas! they ne'er can be, love!

TO WOMAN.
Surely experience might have told me,?That all must love thee, who behold thee;?Surely experience might have taught,?A woman's promises are naught,?But plac'd in all thy charms before me,?All I forget, but to adore thee.?Oh