The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] ... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes |
I. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
II. |
II. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
II. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
II. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
I. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
II. |
III. |
I. |
II. |
I. |
II. |
I. |
II. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
IV. |
I. |
II. |
III. | ELEGY III. |
IV. |
V. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | ||
ELEGY III.
He complains of Julia's not keeping her Appointment to meet him.
What demons keep my soul's delight away,
And cruel thus my fondest wish invade?
Alas! I tremble at the setting ray!
Pale evening waves around an envious shade!
And cruel thus my fondest wish invade?
Alas! I tremble at the setting ray!
Pale evening waves around an envious shade!
How expectation loads th' important hour!
Impatience wilder with each moment grows!
Thou loit'ring fair-one, bless th' appointed bow'r,
And snatch thy lover from a thousand woes.
Impatience wilder with each moment grows!
Thou loit'ring fair-one, bless th' appointed bow'r,
And snatch thy lover from a thousand woes.
From vale to vale my eager gaze I strain;
From glade to glade with wild emotion move
Now turn and sigh, now move and turn again,
Devour each sound, and chide my ling'ring love
From glade to glade with wild emotion move
Now turn and sigh, now move and turn again,
Devour each sound, and chide my ling'ring love
Desponding, now upon the ground I lie,
And, anxious, murmur to the desert air;
Now call on slumber to my closing eye;
But slumber lights not on the lids of care.
And, anxious, murmur to the desert air;
Now call on slumber to my closing eye;
But slumber lights not on the lids of care.
52
Dark as the bosom of the stormy deep,
Wild as its waves my thoughts succeeding roll;
Cool reason vainly soothes the wretch to sleep—
Oh! what is reason to the love-sick soul?
Wild as its waves my thoughts succeeding roll;
Cool reason vainly soothes the wretch to sleep—
Oh! what is reason to the love-sick soul?
Ye sweet companions of my lonely bow'r,
Whose simple melodies my shades inspire:
Oh, that my bosom felt your happy hour!
Oh, that my voice could join your cheerful choir!
Whose simple melodies my shades inspire:
Oh, that my bosom felt your happy hour!
Oh, that my voice could join your cheerful choir!
Light as your wing that skims the midway sky,
From joy to joy my heart so lately flew:
With me my moments never left a sigh,
Nor bath'd my lids in sorrow's baleful dew.
From joy to joy my heart so lately flew:
With me my moments never left a sigh,
Nor bath'd my lids in sorrow's baleful dew.
Hate to the nymph I vow, and cold disdain:
Yet at each idle sound alarm'd, I start;
To meet her, panting, every nerve I strain,
And show too plain her triumph o'er my heart.
Yet at each idle sound alarm'd, I start;
To meet her, panting, every nerve I strain,
And show too plain her triumph o'er my heart.
Where is my love? alas! my transports die:
My cheek, that redden'd with despair, turns pale;
With disappointment drops my clouded eye,
Each pining feature tells a mournful tale.
My cheek, that redden'd with despair, turns pale;
With disappointment drops my clouded eye,
Each pining feature tells a mournful tale.
See, see, the sun descends beneath the deep;
Behold the melancholy bird of night!—
In vain along the winding gloom I weep,
And wish in vain to stay the parting light.
Behold the melancholy bird of night!—
In vain along the winding gloom I weep,
And wish in vain to stay the parting light.
The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | ||