The poetical works of Susanna Blamire "The Muse of Cumberland." Now for the first time collected by Henry Lonsdale; With a preface, memoir, and notes by Patrick Maxwell |
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THE ADIEU AND RECALL TO LOVE. |
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 | The poetical works of Susanna Blamire "The Muse of Cumberland." |  |
THE ADIEU AND RECALL TO LOVE.
Go, idle boy, I quit thy power,
Thy couch of many a thorn and flower,
Thy twanging bow, thine arrow keen,
Deceitful Beauty's timid mien;
The feign'd surprise, the roguish leer,
The tender smile, the thrilling tear,
Have now no pangs—no joys for me,
So, fare thee well, for I am free!
Then flutter hence on wanton wing,
Or lave thee in yon lucid spring,
Or take thy beverage from the rose,
Or on Louisa's breast repose,
I wish thee well for pleasures past,
Yet bless the hour I'm free at last!
Thy couch of many a thorn and flower,
Thy twanging bow, thine arrow keen,
Deceitful Beauty's timid mien;
The feign'd surprise, the roguish leer,
The tender smile, the thrilling tear,
Have now no pangs—no joys for me,
So, fare thee well, for I am free!
Then flutter hence on wanton wing,
Or lave thee in yon lucid spring,
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Or on Louisa's breast repose,
I wish thee well for pleasures past,
Yet bless the hour I'm free at last!
But sure methinks the alter'd day
Scatters around a mournful ray;
And chilly every zephyr blows,
And every stream untuneful flows.
No rapture swells the linnet's voice,
No more the vocal groves rejoice;
And e'en thy song, sweet bird of eve
With whom I lov'd so oft to grieve,
Now, scarce regarded, meets my ear
Unanswer'd by a sigh or tear;
No more with devious steps I choose
To brush the mountain's morning dews;
“To drink the spirit of the breeze,”
Or wander midst o'er-arching trees;
Or woo with undisturb'd delight
The palecheek'd Virgin of the night,
That, peering through the leafy bower,
Throws on the ground a silver shower.
Alas! is all this boasted ease
To lose each warm desire to please?
No sweet solicitude to know
For other's bliss, for other's woe,
A frozen apathy to find—
A sad vacuity of mind?
Scatters around a mournful ray;
And chilly every zephyr blows,
And every stream untuneful flows.
No rapture swells the linnet's voice,
No more the vocal groves rejoice;
And e'en thy song, sweet bird of eve
With whom I lov'd so oft to grieve,
Now, scarce regarded, meets my ear
Unanswer'd by a sigh or tear;
No more with devious steps I choose
To brush the mountain's morning dews;
“To drink the spirit of the breeze,”
Or wander midst o'er-arching trees;
Or woo with undisturb'd delight
The palecheek'd Virgin of the night,
That, peering through the leafy bower,
Throws on the ground a silver shower.
Alas! is all this boasted ease
To lose each warm desire to please?
No sweet solicitude to know
For other's bliss, for other's woe,
A frozen apathy to find—
A sad vacuity of mind?
O! hasten back, thou heavenly boy,
And with thine anguish bring thy joy;
Return with all thy torments here,
And let me hope, and doubt, and fear;
O! rend my heart with every pain,
But let me, let me love again!
And with thine anguish bring thy joy;
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And let me hope, and doubt, and fear;
O! rend my heart with every pain,
But let me, let me love again!
| The poetical works of Susanna Blamire "The Muse of Cumberland." | |