 | The poems, odes, songs, and other metrical effusions, of Samuel Woodworth |  |
53
TO MARY,
On hearing her sing the air, from Blue Beard, of “When pensive I thought on my love.”
When torn from the arms of her swain,
In circles of splendour to move,
Sweet Fatima thus would complain,
As pensive she thought on her love.
In circles of splendour to move,
Sweet Fatima thus would complain,
As pensive she thought on her love.
A palace for her had no charms,
Unshared by the youth she adored;
But press'd in her lov'd Selim's arms,
A cottage true bliss could afford.
Unshared by the youth she adored;
But press'd in her lov'd Selim's arms,
A cottage true bliss could afford.
54
Then should fickle Fortune ordain,
Your Selim from hence to remove,
Will you, while you warble that strain,
Bestow a fond thought on your love?
Your Selim from hence to remove,
Will you, while you warble that strain,
Bestow a fond thought on your love?
Some seraph will waft me the sound,
And whisper the joy to my heart;
Though absence must cruelly wound,
I'll listen, forgetting its smart.
And whisper the joy to my heart;
Though absence must cruelly wound,
I'll listen, forgetting its smart.
Then grant that such joy I may find,
Should fate ever tear me from thee;
For me let the strain be design'd—
Be Fatima only to me.
Should fate ever tear me from thee;
For me let the strain be design'd—
Be Fatima only to me.
| The poems, odes, songs, and other metrical effusions, of Samuel Woodworth | |