Fugitive Pieces | Page 4

thine own.
But when our cheeks with anguish glow'd,
When thy sweet lips where
join'd to mine;
The tears that from my eye-lids flow'd,
Were lost in
those which fell from thine.
Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek,
Thy gushing tears had
quench'd its flame,
And as thy tongue essay'd to speak,
In sighs
alone it breath'd my name.
And yet, my girl, we weep in vain,
In vain our fate in sighs deplore;

Remembrance only can remain,
But that, will make us weep the
more.
Again, thou best 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 ÆSCHYLUS.
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