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 |
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Whitehall Stairs.
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 | The Works of the Late Aaron Hill |  |
Whitehall Stairs.
From
Whitehall Stairs, whence oft, with distant view,
I've gaz'd whole moon-shine hours, on hours away,
Blest but to see those roofs, which cover'd you,
And watch'd beneath what star, you sleeping, lay.
I've gaz'd whole moon-shine hours, on hours away,
Blest but to see those roofs, which cover'd you,
And watch'd beneath what star, you sleeping, lay.
Launch'd on the smiling stream, which felt my hope,
And danc'd, and quiver'd, round my gliding boat,
I came, this day, to give my tongue free scope,
And vent the passion, which my looks denote.
And danc'd, and quiver'd, round my gliding boat,
I came, this day, to give my tongue free scope,
And vent the passion, which my looks denote.
To tell my dear, my soul-disturbing muse,
(But that's a name, can speak but half her charms)
How my full heart does my pen's aid refuse,
And bids my voice describe my soul's alarms.
(But that's a name, can speak but half her charms)
How my full heart does my pen's aid refuse,
And bids my voice describe my soul's alarms.
47
To tell what transports your last letter gave,
What heav'ns were open'd, in your soft complaint,
To tell!—what pride I take, to be your slave,
And how triumphant love disdains restraint.
What heav'ns were open'd, in your soft complaint,
To tell!—what pride I take, to be your slave,
And how triumphant love disdains restraint.
But, when I miss'd you, and took boat again,
The sympathetic sun condol'd my woe;
Drew in his beams, to mourn my pity'd pain,
And bid the shadow'd stream benighted flow.
The sympathetic sun condol'd my woe;
Drew in his beams, to mourn my pity'd pain,
And bid the shadow'd stream benighted flow.
Sudden, the weeping skies unsluic'd their store,
And torrents of big tears unceasing shed;
Sad, I drove downward, to a flooded shore,
And, disappointed, hung my dripping head.
And torrents of big tears unceasing shed;
Sad, I drove downward, to a flooded shore,
And, disappointed, hung my dripping head.
Landed, at length, I sable coffee drink,
And, ill surrounded, by a noisy tribe,
Scornful of what they do, or say, or think,
I, rapt in your dear heav'n, my loss describe.
And, ill surrounded, by a noisy tribe,
Scornful of what they do, or say, or think,
I, rapt in your dear heav'n, my loss describe.
| The Works of the Late Aaron Hill | |