 | Miscellaneous works, prose and poetical |  |
DELIA,
A PASTORAL.
Why Delia those sorrowful tears?
Which o'er thy fair aspect descend—
Why joy's chearful glow disappears?
And bestows no fond smile on a friend—
Can the fondness of friendship delight?
Thy sensible bosom no more—
Can the bloom of kind nature excite?
No more her fair scenes to explore—
Which o'er thy fair aspect descend—
Why joy's chearful glow disappears?
And bestows no fond smile on a friend—
Can the fondness of friendship delight?
Thy sensible bosom no more—
Can the bloom of kind nature excite?
No more her fair scenes to explore—
Your sheep miss their sheperdess' hand,
The mourners have wander'd astray;
They hear not your gentle command,
Nor sportively lift to your lay—
By the banks of the murm'ring brook,
In the verdure of op'ning lawns
No more are they led by your crook—
When the morn in serenity dawns.
The mourners have wander'd astray;
They hear not your gentle command,
Nor sportively lift to your lay—
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In the verdure of op'ning lawns
No more are they led by your crook—
When the morn in serenity dawns.
The voice of glad concord is mute,
And sunk in grief's sorrowful strain—
Unstrung is the musical lute,
Which lull'd with its accents the plain.
Simplicity blended with grace
Is still my fair Delia thy guest,
But fled is the bloom of your face
Which health had so lovely imprest.
And sunk in grief's sorrowful strain—
Unstrung is the musical lute,
Which lull'd with its accents the plain.
Simplicity blended with grace
Is still my fair Delia thy guest,
But fled is the bloom of your face
Which health had so lovely imprest.
The flowers which bloom'd in the field,
Around your soft bosom you spread—
But now to dull sorrow you yield,
And the cyress encircles your head.—
The vales and the shadowy grove
Were once gentle maid thy delight;
But now with sad fondness you rove
When the landscape is folded in night.
Around your soft bosom you spread—
But now to dull sorrow you yield,
And the cyress encircles your head.—
The vales and the shadowy grove
Were once gentle maid thy delight;
But now with sad fondness you rove
When the landscape is folded in night.
Indulge not too much gloomy thought
My Delia indulge not your sighs,
Reflect on humanity's lot,
And dry the warm tears from your eyes.
Compare with another your grief?
The children of anguish and woe,
Whom Hope e'en refuses relief,
And deigns not her smiles to bestow.
My Delia indulge not your sighs,
Reflect on humanity's lot,
And dry the warm tears from your eyes.
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The children of anguish and woe,
Whom Hope e'en refuses relief,
And deigns not her smiles to bestow.
| Miscellaneous works, prose and poetical | |