University of Virginia Library

SONG TO DELIA.

Say, lonely maid, with down-cast eye—
O Delia, say, with cheek so pale;
What gives thy heart the length'ned sigh,
That tells the world a mournful tale?
Thy tears, that thus each other chase,
Bespeak a bosom swell'd with woe:
Thy sighs, a storm that wrecks thy peace,
Which souls like thine should never know.

120

O tell me doth some favour'd youth,
With virtue tir'd, thy beauty slight;
And leave those thrones of love and truth,
That lip and bosom of delight?
Perhaps, to nymphs of other shades
He feigns the soft impassion'd tear,
With songs their easy faith invades,
That treach'rous won thy witless ear.
Let not those maids thy envy move,
For whom his heart may seem to pine—
That heart can ne'er be blest by love,
Whose guilt could force a pang from thine.