 | The poems (1925) |  |
83
SONGS OF DAMON AND EMMA
Song.
[Whene'er to gentle Emma's praise]
Whene'er to gentle Emma's praise
I tune my soft enamour'd lays,
When on the face so dear I prize,
I fondly gaze with love-sick eyes;
“Say, Damon,” cries the smiling fair,
With modest and ingenuous air,
“Tell of this homely frame, the part
To which I owe your vanquish'd heart.”
I tune my soft enamour'd lays,
When on the face so dear I prize,
I fondly gaze with love-sick eyes;
“Say, Damon,” cries the smiling fair,
With modest and ingenuous air,
“Tell of this homely frame, the part
To which I owe your vanquish'd heart.”
In vain my Emma would I tell
By what thy captive Damon fell;
The swain who partial charms can see,
May own—but never lov'd like me!
Won by thy form and fairer mind,
So much my wishes are confin'd,
With lover's eyes so much I see,
Thy very faults are charms to me.
By what thy captive Damon fell;
The swain who partial charms can see,
May own—but never lov'd like me!
Won by thy form and fairer mind,
So much my wishes are confin'd,
With lover's eyes so much I see,
Thy very faults are charms to me.
Emma to Damon,
on finding his addresses not favoured by her friends, on account of his want of fortune.
Forbear in pity, ah! forbear
To soothe my ravish'd ear;
Nor longer thus a love declare,
'Tis death for me to hear.
To soothe my ravish'd ear;
Nor longer thus a love declare,
'Tis death for me to hear.
84
Too much, alas! my tender heart
Does to thy suit incline;
Why then attempt to gain by art
What is already thine?
Does to thy suit incline;
Why then attempt to gain by art
What is already thine?
O! let not, like the Grecian dame,
My hapless fortune prove,
Who languish'd in too fierce a flame,
And died by too much love.
My hapless fortune prove,
Who languish'd in too fierce a flame,
And died by too much love.
The Author being in company with Emma,
and having no opportunity of expressing certain doubts he had conceived of her sincerity, conveys to her the following lines, as a device to know the sentiments of her heart.
Are all my flattering hopes at once betray'd,And cold and faithless grown my nut-brown maid;
Have I so long indulg'd the pleasing smart,
And worn thy grateful image next my heart,
And must I thus at once all hopes resign,
When fix'd as fate, I fondly thought thee mine?
Then go, irresolute, and dare to prove,
To please proud friends, a rebel to thy love.
Perhaps, too long accustom'd to obtain,
My flattering view was ever false and vain!
Perhaps my Emma's lips, well skill'd in art,
Late breath'd a language foreign to her heart!
Perhaps the muse profanely does thee wrong,
85
Whichever is the cause, the truth proclaim,
And to that sentence here affix thy name;
So shall we both be rescu'd from the fear
Which thou must have to tell, and I to hear.
If thou art false,—the muse shall vengeance take,
And blast the faithless sex for Emma's sake;
If true—my wounds thy gentle voice shall heal,
And own me punish'd by the pangs I feel.
But O! without disguise pronounce my fate,
Bless me with love, or curse me with thy hate!
Hearts soft as mine indifference cannot bear;
Perfect my hopes, or plunge me in despair.
After perusing the paper, Emma (as the reader may conjecture from the sequel) returned it to the Author, after having written her name with a pencil at the close of the following line:
“Weak my suspicions, and unjust my song!”To Emma,
doubting the Author's sincerity.
When misers cease to dote on gold,
When justice is no longer sold,
When female tongues their clack shall hush,
When modesty shall cease to blush;
When parents shall no more control
The fond affections of the soul,
Nor force the sad reluctant fair
Her idol from her heart to tear,
For sordid interest to engage,
And languish in the arms of age;
Then in this heart shall falsehood reign,
And pay thy kindness with disdain.
When friends severe as thine shall prove
Propitious to ingenuous love;
Bid thee in merit place affiance,
And think they're honour'd by th'alliance;
And O! when hearts are proud as mine,
Shall barely kneel at Plutus' shrine,
Forego my modest plea to fame,
Or own dull pow'r's superior claim;
When the bright sun no more shall bring
The sweet return of annual spring;
When nature shall the change deplore,
And music fill the groves no more;
Then in this heart shall falsehood reign,
And pay thy kindness with disdain.
When justice is no longer sold,
When female tongues their clack shall hush,
When modesty shall cease to blush;
When parents shall no more control
The fond affections of the soul,
Nor force the sad reluctant fair
Her idol from her heart to tear,
For sordid interest to engage,
And languish in the arms of age;
Then in this heart shall falsehood reign,
And pay thy kindness with disdain.
86
Propitious to ingenuous love;
Bid thee in merit place affiance,
And think they're honour'd by th'alliance;
And O! when hearts are proud as mine,
Shall barely kneel at Plutus' shrine,
Forego my modest plea to fame,
Or own dull pow'r's superior claim;
When the bright sun no more shall bring
The sweet return of annual spring;
When nature shall the change deplore,
And music fill the groves no more;
Then in this heart shall falsehood reign,
And pay thy kindness with disdain.
But why from dearer objects rove,
Nor draw allusions whence I love
Nor draw allusions whence I love
When my dear Emma's eyes shall be
As black as jet or ebony,
And every forward tooth shall stand,
As rang'd by Hemet's dext'rous hand;
When her sweet face, deform'd by rage,
No more shall every heart engage,
When her soft voice shall cease to charm,
Nor malice of its power disarm;
When manners gentle and refin'd
No more speak forth her spotless mind;
But the perfidious minx shall prove
A perjur'd traitress to her love;
Then,—nor till then—shall Damon be
False to his vows, and false to thee.
As black as jet or ebony,
And every forward tooth shall stand,
As rang'd by Hemet's dext'rous hand;
When her sweet face, deform'd by rage,
No more shall every heart engage,
When her soft voice shall cease to charm,
Nor malice of its power disarm;
When manners gentle and refin'd
No more speak forth her spotless mind;
But the perfidious minx shall prove
A perjur'd traitress to her love;
Then,—nor till then—shall Damon be
False to his vows, and false to thee.
87
An invitation to Emma,
after marriage, to live in the country.
Come, my dear girl, let's seek the peaceful vale,Where honour, truth, and innocence prevail;
Let's fly this cursed town—a nest of slaves—
Where fortune smiles not but on fools and knaves,
Who merit claim proportion'd to their gold,
And truth, and innocence, are sold;
An humble competence we have in store,
Mere food and raiment—Kings can have no more!
A glorious patriarchal life we'll lead,
See the fruits ripen, and the lambkins feed:
Frequent observe the labours of the spade,
And joy to see each yearly toil repaid;
In some sequester'd spot a bower shall stand,
The fav'rite task of thy lov'd Damon's hand,
Where the sweet woodbine clasps the curling vine,
Emblem of faithful love like yours and mine!
Here will we sit when evening shades prevail,
And hear the night bird tell its plaintive tale,
Till nature's voice shall summon us away,
To gather spirits for the approaching day;
Then on thy breast I'll lay my weary head,
A pillow softer than a monarch's bed.
| The poems (1925) | |