University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
The Works of the Late Aaron Hill

... In Four Volumes. Consisting of Letters on Various Subjects, And of Original Poems, Moral and Facetious. With An Essay on the Art of Acting

collapse section
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The CHANGE;
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
collapse section
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
collapse section
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
collapse section
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The CHANGE;

To the Lovely Cause of it.

Sweet enslaver! can you tell,
E're I learnt to love so well,
How my hours had wings to move,
All unbusied by my love!

35

'Tis amazement, now, to me,
What could then a pleasure be!
But you, like God, new sense can give,
And now, indeed, I feel, I live,
Oh! what pangs his breast alarm,
Whom soul and body, join, to charm!
Endless transports dance along,
Sweetly soft! or nobly strong!
Flaming fancy! cool reflection!
Fierce desire! and aw'd subjection!
Aking hope! and fear encreasing!
Struggling passions, never ceasing!
Wishing! trembling! soul-adoring!
Ever blest, and still imploring.
Let the dull, the cold, and tame,
All those dear disorders blame;
Tell 'em, that, in honour's race,
Charm'd by some such heav'nly face,
Lovers always foremost ran;
Love's a second soul to man.
Ease is languid, low, and base;
Love excites a generous chase:

36

Glory! Wealth! Ambition! Wit!
Thoughts, for boundless empire, fit!
All, at Love's approach are fir'd,
Bent more strong, and never tir'd,
He who feels not Love's sweet pain,
Lives at ease—but lives in vain!
Little dream you, what is due,
Angel form! to Love, and you!
'Tis from you, I joy possess!
'Tis by you, my grief grows less!
Sadly pensive, when alone,
I the shades of life bemoan;
If some voice your name impart,
Care lies lighten'd, at my heart;
Ev'ry woe disarms its sting,
And I look down on Britain's king!
When my fancy brings to view
Works, which wealth and pow'r can do;
All my spurr'd excitements wake,
And fortune charms me, for your sake!
Oh! I cry—'twere heav'n possest!
To make her great, who made me blest.

37

In the morning, when I rise,
If the sun-shine strikes my eyes,
All that pleases, in his view,
Is, my hope, to look on you!
When the sable sweep of night
Drowns distinction, from my sight,
I no inward darkness find;
You are day-light to my mind!
All my dreams are lives of joy,
Which, in waking, I destroy:
You, a slave to custom made,
Are of forms, and rules, afraid:
But your happier image, free
From fantastic tyranny;
Independent, kind, and wise,
Scorns restraint, and knows no ties.
Oh! the dear, the racking pain;
Who that sleeps thus, wou'd wake again!