 | Poems, on various subjects |  |
151
ABSENCE,
A JUVENILE PIECE.
Why droop my thoughts inactive, calm and low?
Or why this languor on my sinking mind?
Deaf, when from converse trisling accents flow;
I wander pensive, but no joy can find.
Or why this languor on my sinking mind?
Deaf, when from converse trisling accents flow;
I wander pensive, but no joy can find.
Ah! why does Fate congenial spirits form,
Who rush to meet each other from the eye?
In vain does Sympathy each bosom warm,
For, oh! her transports are but born to die.
Who rush to meet each other from the eye?
In vain does Sympathy each bosom warm,
For, oh! her transports are but born to die.
152
Bid Silence sit upon the trembling tongue;
Yet shall the look pierce to the melting heart:
Till then unconscious, when the sigh had sprung;
Till then unconscious, what could joy impart.
Yet shall the look pierce to the melting heart:
Till then unconscious, when the sigh had sprung;
Till then unconscious, what could joy impart.
Ah, doubtful Joy! poor pleasing pain at best,
When all our soft emotions swiftly rise;
To ask Expression while the pang supprest,
To the fond heart ebbs back and silent dies.
When all our soft emotions swiftly rise;
To ask Expression while the pang supprest,
To the fond heart ebbs back and silent dies.
Silence, mute blessing, covert of our woes,
Soft nurse of dear Idea, near me stay;
To thy dark bosom ev'ry sorrow flows,
On which the vulgar mind would furious prey.
Soft nurse of dear Idea, near me stay;
To thy dark bosom ev'ry sorrow flows,
On which the vulgar mind would furious prey.
153
Be ever mine; with thee I'll gently rove
O'er Clifton's native heights, or flow'ry plain:
And when cold Absence desert makes the Grove,
My Soul may languish, but thou still shalt reign.
O'er Clifton's native heights, or flow'ry plain:
And when cold Absence desert makes the Grove,
My Soul may languish, but thou still shalt reign.
Hence, ye fair fools! who noise with nonsense join,
My spirit lists not to your witless tale;
Nor will her long-lov'd Images resign,
But silent bears them to the dewy vale.
My spirit lists not to your witless tale;
Nor will her long-lov'd Images resign,
But silent bears them to the dewy vale.
Pure is that sigh unwilling breath'd in air,
When Hope denies and Absence chills its flight;
When nought assists it but a true despair,
Ye Prudes, forgive the breast it renders light.
When Hope denies and Absence chills its flight;
When nought assists it but a true despair,
Ye Prudes, forgive the breast it renders light.
154
The Mind that's form'd to Virtue, silent mourns
The object she had dress'd in mental charms;
Yet scorns the wish with which that bosom burns,
Whom Love with wilder tumult still alarms.
The object she had dress'd in mental charms;
Yet scorns the wish with which that bosom burns,
Whom Love with wilder tumult still alarms.
| Poems, on various subjects | |