 | The works, in verse and prose, of the late Robert Treat Paine, Jun. Esq |  |
SONNET TO THE COUNTRY GIRL.
Haste, Zephyr, fly, and waft to Anna's ear
This bosom echo—'tis my heart's reply;
Say, to her notes I listened with a tear,
And caught the sweet contagion of a “sigh.”
This bosom echo—'tis my heart's reply;
Say, to her notes I listened with a tear,
And caught the sweet contagion of a “sigh.”
But, ah! that “last adieu!” oh! stern request!
Cold, as those tides of vital ice, that roll
Through the chilled channels of the maiden breast,
When prudish Sanctity congeals the soul.
Cold, as those tides of vital ice, that roll
Through the chilled channels of the maiden breast,
When prudish Sanctity congeals the soul.
O'er Fancy's fairy lawn, no more we rove;
No more, in Rhyme's impervious hood arrayed,
Hold airy converse in the Muse's grove,
While you a shadow seemed, and I a shade.
No more, in Rhyme's impervious hood arrayed,
Hold airy converse in the Muse's grove,
While you a shadow seemed, and I a shade.
For know, Menander can thy features trace,
Nor more thy verse admire, than idolize thy face!
Nor more thy verse admire, than idolize thy face!
| The works, in verse and prose, of the late Robert Treat Paine, Jun. Esq | |