 | Poetical Trifles |  |
49
TO LAURA.
“Quid fles Asterie?”—Hor.
Why swell with tears my Laura's eyes,
Her heart with sobs why beating?
O, let me quell those rising sighs,
And tell her bliss is fleeting!
Untemper'd Love is Passion's child,
By Fancy's power becoming wild:
True Love's a pure congenial spirit,
That yields to one Affection's merit.
Her heart with sobs why beating?
O, let me quell those rising sighs,
And tell her bliss is fleeting!
Untemper'd Love is Passion's child,
By Fancy's power becoming wild:
True Love's a pure congenial spirit,
That yields to one Affection's merit.
50
Why pout with ire my Laura's lips,
Her pretty dimples flushing?
Rage all the charms of Beauty strips,
The tones of Mildness hushing;
The feeble strains of Woman's voice,
Are far more pleasing in their choice,
Than jarring bursts of madd'ning folly,
Which consummate in melancholy.
Her pretty dimples flushing?
Rage all the charms of Beauty strips,
The tones of Mildness hushing;
The feeble strains of Woman's voice,
Are far more pleasing in their choice,
Than jarring bursts of madd'ning folly,
Which consummate in melancholy.
51
Then cease those sobs, my Laura dear,
Sweet maid, come leave off weeping;
Quick wipe away that pendent tear,
In smiles thy sorrows sleeping.
While those dark clouds which hung around,
When thy arch'd brow with sternness frown'd,
In brightening beams shall faint away,
And gentle Mildness her charms display.
Sweet maid, come leave off weeping;
Quick wipe away that pendent tear,
In smiles thy sorrows sleeping.
While those dark clouds which hung around,
When thy arch'd brow with sternness frown'd,
In brightening beams shall faint away,
And gentle Mildness her charms display.
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