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185

VIII. LINES INSERTED IN A POCKET-BOOK.

Go, little book, I charge thee post away;
To the fair hand of her I love depart,
And in soft numbers to her eye convey
The still confession of a wounded heart.
Whisper the hopeless passion in her ear,
Which thy sad master can no longer hide,
And say not Littleton was more sincere
When at his Lucy's grave he fondly sigh'd.
Go, and return not, but from day to day
Plead for affection till her heart approve;
Go, and return not, but for ever stay,
The sacred pledge of unforbidden love.
For know, if to this hand these leaves return,
And to this heart unwelcome tidings bear,
Thou must a flame-devoted victim burn
Upon the kindled altar of despair.

186

But if thou stay, and her propitious eye
Delight to read my undissembling line,
Thy precious memory shall never die,
But live eternal as her love and mine.