 | Poetical works [1797] |  |
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LOVING ONE I NEVER SAW.
Thou tyrant God of Love, give o'er,And persecute this breast no more:
Ah! tell me why must every dart
Be aim'd at my unhappy heart?
I never murmur'd or repin'd,
But patiently myself resign'd
To all the torments, which through thee
Have fell, alas! on wretched me:
But Oh! I can no more sustain
This long continued state of pain,
Though 'tis but fruitless to complain.
My heart, first soften'd by thy power,
Ne'er kept its liberty an hour:
So fond and easy was it grown,
Each nymph might call the fool her own:
So much to its own interest blind,
So strangely charm'd to womankind,
That it more belong'd to me,
Than vestal-virgins hearts to thee.
I often courted it to stay;
But, deaf to all, 'twould fly away.
In vain to stop it I essay'd,
Though often, often, I display'd
The turns and doubles women made.
Nay more, when it has home return'd,
By some proud maid ill us'd and scorn'd,
I still the renegade carest,
And gave it harbour in my breast.
O! then, with indignation fir'd
At what before it so admir'd;
With shame and sorrow overcast,
And sad repentance for the past,
A thousand sacred oaths it swore
Never to wander from me more;
After chimeras ne'er to rove,
Or run the wild-goose chase of love.
Thus it resolv'd ------
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The resolutions it had made:
Then how 'twould flutter up and down,
Eager, impatient, to be gone;
And, though so often it had fail'd,
Though vainless every heart assail'd,
Yet, lur'd by hope of new delight,
It took again its fatal flight.
'Tis thus, malicious deity,
That thou hast banter'd wretched me:
Thus made me vainly lose my time,
Thus fool away my youthful prime!
And yet, for all the hours I've lost,
And sighs, and tears, thy bondage cost,
Ne'er did thy slave thy favours bless,
Or crown his passion with success.
Well—since 'tis doom'd that I must find
No love for love from womankind;
Since I no pleasure must obtain,
Let me at least avoid the pain:
So weary of the chace I'm grown,
That with content I'd sit me down,
Enjoy my book, my friend, my cell,
And bid all womankind farewel.
Nay, ask, for all I felt before,
Only to be disturb'd no more.
Yet thou (to my complainings deaf)
Will give my torments no relief;
But now, e'en now, thou mak'st me die,
And love I know not whom, nor why,
In every part I feel the fire,
And burn with fanciful desire;
From whence can love its magic draw?
I doat on her I never saw:
And who, but lovers, can express
This strange, mysterious tenderness?
And yet methinks, 'tis happier so,
Than whom it is I love to know:
Now my unbounded notions rove,
And frame ideas to my love.
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Diviner both in face and mind,
Than ever nature did bestow
On any creature here below.
I fancy thus Corinna walks,
That thus she sings, she looks, she talks,
Sometimes I sigh, and fancy then,
That, did Corinna know my pain,
Could she my trickling tears but see,
She would be kind, and pity me.
Thus thinking I've no cause to grieve,
I pleasingly myself deceive;
And sure am happier far than he
Who knows the very truth can be.
Then, gentle Cupid, let me ne'er
See my imaginary fair:
Lest she should be more heavenly bright
Than can be reach'd by fancy's height:
Lest when I on her beauty gaze,
Confounded, lost in an amaze;
My trembling lips and eyes should tell,
'Tis her I dare to love so well;
She, with an angry, scornful eye,
Or some unkind, severe reply,
My hopes of bliss should overcast,
And my presuming passion blast.
If but in this thou kind wilt prove,
And let me not see her I love,
Thy altars prostrate I'll adore,
And call thee tyrant-god no more.
| Poetical works [1797] | |