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 | Miscellanies (1785) |  |
17
Whence the warm tear now gathering in my eye?
And whence the change when bosom friends depart?
From fancy striking on the feeling heart.
Oh should I follow where she leads the way,
What magic meteor to her touch would play!
Then, far from thee, this sun which gilds my brow
In deep eclipse would darken all below;
The herds, tho' now plain reason sees them feed,
Smit by her touch would languish in the mead;
The breeze which now disports with yonder spray,
The flocks which pant beneath the heat of day,
The pendant copse in partial shadows drest,
The scanty herbage on the mountain's crest,
The balmy pow'rs that mix with every gale,
The glassy lakes that fertilize the dale,
Struck by her mystic sceptre all would fade,
And sudden sadness brood along the shade.
| Miscellanies (1785) | |