The Poetical Works of John Langhorne ... To which are prefixed, Memoirs of the Author by his Son the Rev. J. T. Langhorne ... In Two Volumes |
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THE
COMPLAINT OF HER RING-DOVE. |
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 | The Poetical Works of John Langhorne |  |
116
THE COMPLAINT OF HER RING-DOVE.
TO MISS CRACROFT.
1759.
Far from the smiles of blue hesperian skies,
Far from those vales, where flowery pleasures dwell,
(Dear scenes of freedom lost to these sad eyes!)
How hard to languish in this lonely cell!
Far from those vales, where flowery pleasures dwell,
(Dear scenes of freedom lost to these sad eyes!)
How hard to languish in this lonely cell!
When genial gales relume the fires of love,
When laughing Spring leads round the jocund year;
Ah! view with pity, gentle maid, your dove,
From every heart-felt joy secluded here!
When laughing Spring leads round the jocund year;
Ah! view with pity, gentle maid, your dove,
From every heart-felt joy secluded here!
To me no more the laughing Spring looks gay;
Nor annual loves relume my languid breast;
Time slowly drags the long, delightless day,
Thro' one dull scene of solitary rest.
Nor annual loves relume my languid breast;
Time slowly drags the long, delightless day,
Thro' one dull scene of solitary rest.
Ah! what avails that dreaming Fancy roves
Thro' the wild beauties of her native reign!
Breathes in green fields, and feeds in freshening groves,
To wake to anguish in this hopeless chain?
Thro' the wild beauties of her native reign!
Breathes in green fields, and feeds in freshening groves,
To wake to anguish in this hopeless chain?
117
Tho' fondly sooth'd with Pity's tenderest care,
Tho' still by Nancy's gentle hand carest,
For the free forest, and the boundless air,
The rebel, Nature, murmurs in my breast.
Tho' still by Nancy's gentle hand carest,
For the free forest, and the boundless air,
The rebel, Nature, murmurs in my breast.
Ah let not Nature, Nancy, plead in vain!
For kindness sure should grace a form so fair:
Restore me to my native wilds again,
To the free forest, and the boundless air.
For kindness sure should grace a form so fair:
Restore me to my native wilds again,
To the free forest, and the boundless air.
| The Poetical Works of John Langhorne | |