 | The works, in verse and prose, of the late Robert Treat Paine, Jun. Esq |  |
STANZAS ON RECEIVING A FROWN FROM CYNTHIA.
A gloomy cloud in heaven appears,
And shrouds the solar ray;
All Nature droops, and bursts in tears,
And mourns the loss of day.
And shrouds the solar ray;
All Nature droops, and bursts in tears,
And mourns the loss of day.
95
What wrath has sent the tempest down
To gloom the azure sky?
Lo! Cynthia's mien assumes a frown,
And Colin heaves a sigh!
To gloom the azure sky?
Lo! Cynthia's mien assumes a frown,
And Colin heaves a sigh!
Yes, Cynthia frowns!—in mourning clad
Young Colin seeks the plain,
And there in silent sorrow sad,
Sighs, weeps, and sighs again.
Young Colin seeks the plain,
And there in silent sorrow sad,
Sighs, weeps, and sighs again.
Ah! luckless hour! the lover cries;
Vain Hope! no more beguile!
Ah! seek no more, in Cynthia's eyes
The sunbeam of her smile!
Vain Hope! no more beguile!
Ah! seek no more, in Cynthia's eyes
The sunbeam of her smile!
Once in the days of happier fate,
In smiles she tripped the lea;
But I, with fondest pride elate,
Thought all those smiles for me.
In smiles she tripped the lea;
But I, with fondest pride elate,
Thought all those smiles for me.
Where once benignant beams were shed,
Now sad displeasure lowers:
On Colin's fond, devoted head,
The storm, dark rolling, showers.
Now sad displeasure lowers:
On Colin's fond, devoted head,
The storm, dark rolling, showers.
The fount of grief has now grown dry,
And tears no more can now;
No more can trickle from the eye,
The streams of mental woe.
And tears no more can now;
No more can trickle from the eye,
The streams of mental woe.
Cynthia, behold a captive heart;
Its real anguish see,
Transcending all descriptive art;
It bleeds alone by thee!
Its real anguish see,
Transcending all descriptive art;
It bleeds alone by thee!
96
So deep a wound can never close,
The heart cannot endure,
You opened all its bleeding woes,
And you alone can cure.
The heart cannot endure,
You opened all its bleeding woes,
And you alone can cure.
Then deign a gentle smile of grace;
On Colin's bosom shine;
And, raptured at so fair a face,
Elysium will be mine!
On Colin's bosom shine;
And, raptured at so fair a face,
Elysium will be mine!
| The works, in verse and prose, of the late Robert Treat Paine, Jun. Esq | |