Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Tell me, O! tell me, why with cold Disdain
You scorn the Passion of an artless Swain?
Why now with haughty Charms and conscious Pride,
You frown severe, and turn your Head aside?
Perhaps my Form and Courtship rude are thought;
Love is not unsincere because untaught.
Far from your Town, and distant from Resort,
In Woods has been my Business and my Sport:
Yet Love, if pleasing Tales may be believ'd
From antient Bards to list'ning Youth deriv'd,
Has in the shady Forest's dark Retreat
Compos'd his Bow'r, and fix'd his rural Seat.
They say the Mother and the Queen of Love
Forsook the starry Skies, and chose to rove,
And trace a fav'rite Shepherd thro' the Grove.
And some good Gentry in our Town, 'tis said,
Have met their Lovers in the neighb'ring Glade:
Not that I close Intrigues to Light would bring,
But you perhaps have heard of such a Thing:

By these Examples warn'd, fair Maid! remove
That Pride that is the Obstacle of Love.
This Form, the Object you so much despise,
Our Country Maids beheld with other Eyes:
With envious Care and rival Art they strove
Who first should gain, and longest keep my Love.
I lov'd, or thought I lov'd; what Youth could choose?
So fairly proffer'd, how could I refuse?
But then no Pain, no anxious Care I knew;
That future Triumph was reserv'd for you.
You may remember, I remember well,
And still my Thoughts on that lov'd Image dwell,
'Twas when the Earth had welcom'd jolly May,
Beneath an Oak upon the Sands I lay,
And with my Hook deceiv'd the finny Prey.
Careless I lay, for then my only Care
Was o're the Lawns to course the tim'rous Hare;
Or to disperse the missive Deaths in Air.
With youthful Pride and vain Delight I knew,
How my strong Arm could bend the stubborn Yew;
But when you came, I to my Grief confest
A surer Marksman that had pierc'd my Breast.
You came, and chose that Oak for your Retreat,
Where I was shelter'd from the Noon-tyde Heat:
Your shining Hat was with a Ribbon ty'd,
And but adorn'd the Charms it seem'd to hide,
With modest Gaiety and decent Pride.
You sate, and on my sportive Labours smil'd:
While I the Fish, the Fisher you beguil'd:
'Twas from that fatal Day the Source arose
Of all my Griefs, the Date of all my Woes;

I'll call it so, unless you should relent,
And prove it blest and happy by th' Event
How oft, at your Approach, my faded Cheek
Betray'd the Passion which I durst not speak?
Aw'd by your Eyes, how oft the Accents hung
And dy'd imperfect on my falt'ring Tongue?
By Day, the woodland Solitudes I sought,
To hide my Passion, and indulge my Thought:
By Night, upon the Ground my Limbs I spread,
And on the mossy Roots repos'd my Head.
My alter'd Eyes roll'd wild with gloomy Care;
And Doubt increasing ended in Despair:
My love-sick Heart no longer cou'd maintain
Its vital Functions, or support its Pain.
'Twas then you came, by kind Compassion mov'd,
With Looks which bid me hope to be belov'd.
Why are you chang'd? while I am still the same,
While Life shall feed the inexausted Flame:
While your dear Image in my tortur'd Breast,
Disturbs my haunted Dreams and broken Rest;
I madly from pursuing Love would run,
And bear about the Torments which I shun.
So strive the feather'd Tribes in vain to fly
The Fowler's certain Arm and constant Eye:
While on extended Pennons they forsake
The shelt'ring Thicket, or the sedgy Lake,
Dang'rous their Flight, nor less unsafe their Stay,
Fate, swifter-wing'd, o'ertakes their mounting Way.