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Sermons Practical and Occasional

Dissertations, Translations, Including New Versions of Virgil's Bucolica, and of Milton's Defensio Secunda, Seaton Poems, &c. &c. By the Rev. Francis Wrangham ... In Three Volumes
 
 

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[Come here, fond youth, whoe'er thou be]
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[Come here, fond youth, whoe'er thou be]

Come here, fond youth, whoe'er thou be
That boast'st to love as well as me;
And, if thy breast have felt so wide a wound,
Come hither and thy flame approve:
I'll teach thee what it is to love,
And by what marks true passion may be found.
It is to be all bath'd in tears,
To live upon a smile for years,
To lie whole ages at a beauty's feet;
To kneel, to languish, to implore,
And still—though she disdain—adore:
It is to do all this, and think thy sufferings sweet.

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It is to gaze upon her eyes
With eager joy and fond surprise—
Yet temper'd with such chaste and aweful fear,
As wretches feel who wait their doom;
Nor must one ruder thought presume,
Though but in whispers breathed, to meet her ear.
It is to hope, though hope were lost,
Though heaven and earth thy wishes cross'd:
Though she were bright as sainted queens above,
And thou the least and meanest swain
That folds his flock upon the plain,
Yet if thou darest not hope, thou dost not love.
It is to quench thy joy in tears,
To nurse strange thoughts and groundless fears:
If pangs of jealousy thou hast not proved,
Though she were fonder and more true
Than any nymph old poets drew,
O never dream again that thou hast loved.
If, when the darling maid is gone,
Thou dost not seek to be alone
Rapt in a pleasing trance of tender woe;
And muse and fold thy languid arms,
Feeding thy fancy on her charms,
Thou dost not love—for love is nourish'd so.
If any hopes thy bosom share,
But those which love has planted there,
Or any cares but his thy breast enthral;
Thou never yet his power hast known:
Love sits on a despotic throne,
And reigns a tyrant—if he reigns at all.
Now, if thou art so lost a thing,
Hither thy tender sorrows bring;
And prove, whose patience longest can endure:
We'll strive whose fancy shall be tost
In dreams of fondest passion most—
For, if thou thus hast loved, oh! never hope a cure.
(Mrs. Barbauld.)
 

Shakspeare has given us similar characteristics of this passion:

It is to be made all of sighs and tears;—
It is to be all made of faith and service:—
It is to be made all of fantasy,
All made of passion, and all made of wishes;
All adoration, duty, and observance;
All humbleness, all patience and impatience;
All purity, all trial, all observance.

(As You Like It, V. 2.)

In a French writer we find a parallel description:

Par son respect l' amour vrai se declare;
C' est lui qui craint, qui se fuit, qui s' égare;
Qui d' un regard fait son suprême bien,
Désire tout, prétend peu, n' ose rien.
Of which the last line is borrowed from Tasso's
Brama assai, poco spera, nulla chiede.