Comic Tales and Lyrical Fancies including The Chessiad, a Mock-Heroic, in Five Cantos; and The Wreath of Love, in Four Cantos. By C. Dibdin, the Younger |
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LOVE SECRETS. |
 | Comic Tales and Lyrical Fancies |  |
235
LOVE SECRETS.
I'd carol of Love and the sweet maiden blush,
Of heart-thrilling glances, but prudence cries “hush!”
For, amorous ditties so numerous prove,
Taste frowns, and cries, sighing, “I'm weary of Love!”
Only fools make of delicate mysteries pother;
Soft feelings are sacred and not to be sung,
Only tenderly whisper'd from one heart to t' other,
While blushes reproach the least slip of the tongue.
Of heart-thrilling glances, but prudence cries “hush!”
For, amorous ditties so numerous prove,
Taste frowns, and cries, sighing, “I'm weary of Love!”
Only fools make of delicate mysteries pother;
Soft feelings are sacred and not to be sung,
Only tenderly whisper'd from one heart to t' other,
While blushes reproach the least slip of the tongue.
Love's eye should but answer the beam that invites it;
The glance that tells secrets true heart never won;
The delicate mind veils the hope that requites it,
Lest it die, like the fire when expos'd to the sun.
O, list'ning for ever to amorous ditty
True fondness destroys and makes bashfulness bold;
'Tis, alone, maudlin passion goes whining for pity;
Love, cherish'd by modesty, never grows cold.
The glance that tells secrets true heart never won;
The delicate mind veils the hope that requites it,
Lest it die, like the fire when expos'd to the sun.
O, list'ning for ever to amorous ditty
True fondness destroys and makes bashfulness bold;
'Tis, alone, maudlin passion goes whining for pity;
Love, cherish'd by modesty, never grows cold.
236
Dear woman's the exquisite magnet of nature,
And love is the heart-thrilling homage we pay,
But Beauty has not a more delicate feature
Than the caution that Love should, if grateful, display.
That name to the heart which sweet transport discloses
Too sacred should be for a toast or a tale;
And the breathings of Love, like the perfume of roses,
Are exquisite death, when surcharging the gale.
And love is the heart-thrilling homage we pay,
But Beauty has not a more delicate feature
Than the caution that Love should, if grateful, display.
That name to the heart which sweet transport discloses
Too sacred should be for a toast or a tale;
And the breathings of Love, like the perfume of roses,
Are exquisite death, when surcharging the gale.
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