 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
Sent to Marinda from the North of England.
Ere
Phœbus did his golden Beams display,
To give the World a shining Proof of Day;
Ere bright Aurora did the Skies adorn,
Or the shrill Cock proclaim'd the rising Morn;
I wak'd; nor mourn'd my interrupted Rest,
A solemn Pleasure reign'd within my Breast.
Fancy a Scene of pleasing Visions wrought,
And dear Marinda entertain'd my Thought.
Your Form, which still before my Eyes I keep,
More than repaid me for the Loss of Sleep;
Whose fair Idea, fruitful of Delight,
Seem'd to give Lustre to the Shades of Night.
Oft I recall'd, the Pleasures I possest,
When by Marinda each soft Hour was blest.
Oh! with what Rapture have I heard that Tongue,
Where Harmony in easy Sweetness hung;
Where solid Sense and graceful Speech combin'd,
To please my Ear and cultivate my Mind!
To give the World a shining Proof of Day;
Ere bright Aurora did the Skies adorn,
Or the shrill Cock proclaim'd the rising Morn;
121
A solemn Pleasure reign'd within my Breast.
Fancy a Scene of pleasing Visions wrought,
And dear Marinda entertain'd my Thought.
Your Form, which still before my Eyes I keep,
More than repaid me for the Loss of Sleep;
Whose fair Idea, fruitful of Delight,
Seem'd to give Lustre to the Shades of Night.
Oft I recall'd, the Pleasures I possest,
When by Marinda each soft Hour was blest.
Oh! with what Rapture have I heard that Tongue,
Where Harmony in easy Sweetness hung;
Where solid Sense and graceful Speech combin'd,
To please my Ear and cultivate my Mind!
But now no more thy various Charms can please,
Divided far by Mountains and by Seas:
Far in the dreary North, secluded long
From Thee, the tender Subject of my Song.
Lost to your Converse, hidden from your View,
And ev'ry thing but Images of you.
Divided far by Mountains and by Seas:
122
From Thee, the tender Subject of my Song.
Lost to your Converse, hidden from your View,
And ev'ry thing but Images of you.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |