 | The Land of Love |  |
The Silent Confession.
And tho' I do not speak, alas!
My Eyes and Sighs too much do say;
And pale and languishing my Face,
The Torments of my Soul betray.
They the sad Story do unfold;
Love cannot his own Secrets hold.
And tho' Fear ties my Tongue, Respect my Eyes,
Yet something will disclose the Pain;
Which breaking thro' the thin Disguise,
Reproaches her with Cruelties,
Which she augments by new Disdain.
Where-e'er she be, I still am there;
What-e'er she does, I that prefer;
In spight of all my Strength, at her Approach
I tremble with a Sight or Touch.
Paleness or Blushes do my Soul surprize,
If mine by Chance meet her encount'ring Eyes.
'Twas thus she learn'd my Weakness, and her Pow'r,
And knew too well she was my Conqueror.
My Eyes and Sighs too much do say;
And pale and languishing my Face,
The Torments of my Soul betray.
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Love cannot his own Secrets hold.
And tho' Fear ties my Tongue, Respect my Eyes,
Yet something will disclose the Pain;
Which breaking thro' the thin Disguise,
Reproaches her with Cruelties,
Which she augments by new Disdain.
Where-e'er she be, I still am there;
What-e'er she does, I that prefer;
In spight of all my Strength, at her Approach
I tremble with a Sight or Touch.
Paleness or Blushes do my Soul surprize,
If mine by Chance meet her encount'ring Eyes.
'Twas thus she learn'd my Weakness, and her Pow'r,
And knew too well she was my Conqueror.
And now alas!—
Her Eyes no more their wonted Smiles afford,
But grew more fierce, the more they were ador'd;
The Marks of her Esteem, which heretofore
Rais'd my aspiring Flame, oblige no more.
She calls up all her Pride to her Defence,
And, as a Crime, condemns my just Pretence;
Me from her Presence does in Fury chase;
No Supplications can my Doom reverse;
And vainly certain of her Victory,
Retires into the Den of Cruelty.
Her Eyes no more their wonted Smiles afford,
But grew more fierce, the more they were ador'd;
The Marks of her Esteem, which heretofore
Rais'd my aspiring Flame, oblige no more.
She calls up all her Pride to her Defence,
And, as a Crime, condemns my just Pretence;
Me from her Presence does in Fury chase;
No Supplications can my Doom reverse;
And vainly certain of her Victory,
Retires into the Den of Cruelty.
| The Land of Love | |