University of Virginia Library


109

SONG. THE REFLECTION.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

O tell me no more of the fir-shaded hill
Where Contentment securely might grow;
Nor mention the murmuring sound of the rill
Which bubbles so sweetly below!
The grove's smiling verdure no longer can please,
Tho' so gay and enchantingly fair;
Nor Reason talk down a fond bosom to ease
That is tortur'd with Love and Despair.
A wound which the hand or the head may endure
A relief from the lancet can find:
But say what physician can e'er hope to cure
A latent disease of the mind?
In vain all the force and extent of his art
The medical blockhead applies;
For Beauty will ever reign over the Heart,
Till Nature deprive us of eyes.