 | A Collection Of Poems |  |
VERSES, To an Unfortunate Young LADY of Quality.
Receive this Present from a pensive Mind,
To you alone, midst all your Sex, resign'd:
Think, as you Read, you see each stealing Tear,
Each hope cut off thro' resolute Despair:
Then judge, O judge, what Pangs must pierce my Heart,
When Fate proclaims that stabbing Sentence,—Part.
To you alone, midst all your Sex, resign'd:
Think, as you Read, you see each stealing Tear,
Each hope cut off thro' resolute Despair:
Then judge, O judge, what Pangs must pierce my Heart,
When Fate proclaims that stabbing Sentence,—Part.
97
Torn from my-self by Virtues rigid Laws
I greatly struggle in Religion's Cause;
Yet faint,—Alas! too weak to reach the Prize,
While Reason yields as stronger Passions rise.
Help me, good Angels, to appease the Storm,
And each loud tumult of my Breast reform:
Lo! with the Storm thy sweet Idea's join'd,
As both to plunge this sinking Bark, combin'd.
I greatly struggle in Religion's Cause;
Yet faint,—Alas! too weak to reach the Prize,
While Reason yields as stronger Passions rise.
Help me, good Angels, to appease the Storm,
And each loud tumult of my Breast reform:
Lo! with the Storm thy sweet Idea's join'd,
As both to plunge this sinking Bark, combin'd.
Oft I look back, but what avail past Joys?
Dear, deadly Sources of eternal Sighs!
Reflection serves but to enhance my Pain,
And call forth moist'ning Dews that Wet—in vain,
To trace the Spring from whence my Suff'rings flow,
And form to Horror each succeeding Woe.
Dear, deadly Sources of eternal Sighs!
Reflection serves but to enhance my Pain,
And call forth moist'ning Dews that Wet—in vain,
To trace the Spring from whence my Suff'rings flow,
And form to Horror each succeeding Woe.
Sometimes my Fancy in a flatt'ring Vein,
Paints me possessing all thy Sweets again:
No longer absent from these Arms you seem,
I hug th'Illusion, and devour the Dream.
E'en now a Tide of Rapture swells my Mind,
But Ebbs—how soon!—and leaves a Wretch behind.
Paints me possessing all thy Sweets again:
98
I hug th'Illusion, and devour the Dream.
E'en now a Tide of Rapture swells my Mind,
But Ebbs—how soon!—and leaves a Wretch behind.
How does that Thought my bleeding Bosom rend!
Thy Name!—a Lover's Name!—prophan'd to Friend.
Yet sprung from Thee, Thou poor disastrous Fair,
E'en Friendship sooths, nay charms my ravish'd Ear.
Thy Name!—a Lover's Name!—prophan'd to Friend.
Yet sprung from Thee, Thou poor disastrous Fair,
E'en Friendship sooths, nay charms my ravish'd Ear.
Say, as a Man, I ought to bear my Woe,
Feel it I must—the Man must feel it too.
And where's the Hero so from Clay refin'd,
To bear the Tortures of a wounded Mind?
Feel it I must—the Man must feel it too.
And where's the Hero so from Clay refin'd,
To bear the Tortures of a wounded Mind?
Yes; 'tis resolv'd,—aid but ye pow'rs Divine—
And Friend's the only Name shall now be mine.
Hail social Pleasure!—permanent Delight!
Lavish of Bliss that soars no vulgar Height!
I pause—convinc'd 'tis more than Half reveal'd,
How much the Lover's in that Friend conceal'd.
And Friend's the only Name shall now be mine.
99
Lavish of Bliss that soars no vulgar Height!
I pause—convinc'd 'tis more than Half reveal'd,
How much the Lover's in that Friend conceal'd.
| A Collection Of Poems | |