University of Virginia Library

—And dar'st thou then, insulting Lord, demand
A friendly answer from this trembling hand?
Perish the thought! shall this unguarded pen
Still trust its frailties with the frauds of men.
To one, and one alone, again impart
The soft effusions of a melting heart!—
No more thy lips my tender page shall stain,
And print false kisses, dream't sincere in vain;
No more thy eyes with sweet surprize pursue,
Love's secret mysteries there unveil'd to you,
Demand'st thou still an answer?—let it be
An answer worthy vengeance, worthy me!—
Hear it in public characters relate
An ill starr'd passion, and capricious fate!
Yes, public let it stand;—to warn the Maid
From her that fell, less vanquish'd, than betray'd:
Guiltless, yet doom'd with guilty pangs to groan,
And expiate other's treasons, not her own:
A race of shame in Honour's paths to run,
Still Virtue's follower, yet by Vice undone;
Such free complaint to injur'd love belongs,
Yes, Tyrant, read, and know me by my wrongs;
Know thy own treacheries, bar'd to general view,
Yes, Traitor, read, and reading tremble too!

What Vice would perpetrate and Fraud disguise,
I come to blaze it to a Nation's eyes;
I come—ah! wretch, thy swelling rage controul,
Was he not once the idol of thy soul?—
True,—by his guilt thy tortur'd bosom bleeds,
Yet spare his blushes, for 'tis Love that pleads!—
Respecting him, respect thy infant flame,
Proclaim the treason, hide the traytor's name!—
Enough to honour, and revenge be given,
This truth reserve for conscience, and for Heaven!—

Talk'st thou, Ingrate, of Friendship's holy powers?
What binds the tyger, and the lamb be ours!
This cold, this frozen bosom, can'st thou dream
Senseless to love, will soften to esteem?
What means thy proffer'd friendship?—but to prove
Thou wilt not hate her, whom thou can'st not love—
Remember thee!—repeat that sound again!—
My heart applauding echoes to the strain;
Yes, till this heart forgets to beat, and grieve,
Live there thy image—but detested live!—
Still swell my rage—uncheck'd by time, or fate,
Nor waken memory but to kindle hate!—

Enter thy treacherous bosom, enter deep,
Hear Conscience call, while flatt'ring passions sleep!—
Impartial search, and tell thy boasted claim
To Love's indulgence and to virtuous fame!
Where harbour Honour, Justice, Faith, and Truth,
Bright forms, whose dazzling semblance caught my youth.
How could I doubt what fairest seem'd and best
Should build its mansion in a noble breast?
How doubt such generous virtues lodg'd in thine
That felt them glowing, tender maid, in mine?
Boast not of trophies from my fall atchiev'd,
Boast not, Deceiver, in this soul deceiv'd;
Easy the traitor saps an open heart,
Artless itself and unsuspecting art:
Not by superior wiles, successful proves,
But fond credulity in her that loves.—

Blush, shameless grandeur, blush!—shall Britain's Peer,
Daring all crimes, not dare to be sincere?—
His fraud in Virtue's fairest likeness paint,
And hide his nobleness in base constraint:
What charms were mine to tempt thy guilty fires!
What wealth, what honours from illustrious sires!
Can Virtue's simple spoils adorn thy race?
Shall annals mark a Village-maid's disgrace?
Ev'n the sad secret, to thyself confin'd,
Sleeps, nor thou dar'st divulge it to mankind:
When bursting tears my inward anguish speak,
When paleness spreads my sometimes flushing cheek,
When my frame trembles with convulsive strife,
And spirits flutter on the verge of life,
When to my heart the ebbing pulse is driv'n,
And eyes throw faint accusing beams to Heav'n,
Still from the world those swelling sighs supprest,
Those sorrows streaming in one faithful breast;
Explain to her, from others hide my care,
Thought Nature's weakness, and not Love's despair,
The sprightly youth in gloomy languor pine,
My portion Misery, yet not Triumph thine—
Ah! whence derives thy sex its barbarous powers
To spoil the sweetness of our virgin hours?
Why leave me not, where first I met your eye,
A simple flower to bloom in shades, and die?—
Where sprightly Morn on downy pinions rose,
And Evening lull'd me to a deep repose?
Sharing pure joys, at least divine content,
The choicest treasure for mere mortals meant.
Ah! wherefore poisoning moments sweet as these,
Essay on me thy fatal arts to please?
Destin'd, if prosperous, for sublimer charms,
To court proud wealth, and greatness to thy arms!
How many a brighter, many a fairer dame,
Fond of her prize had fann'd thy fickle flame?
With livelier moments sooth'd thy vacant mind?
Easy possess'd thee, easy too resign'd—
Chang'd but her object, Passion's willing slave,
Nor felt a wound to fester to the grave—
Oh! had I, conscious of thy fierce desires,
But half consenting, shar'd contagious fires,
But half reluctant, heard thy vows explain'd,
This vanquish'd heart had suffer'd, not complain'd—
But ah, with tears and crouded sighs to sue
False Passion's dress in colours meant for true;
Artful assume Confusion's sweet disguise,
Meet my coy virtues with dejected eyes,
Steal their sweet language that no words impart,
And give me back an image of my heart,
This, this was treachery, fated best to share
Hate from my bosom, and from thine despair—
Yet unrelenting still the tyrant cries,
Heedless of Pity's voice and Beauty's sighs,
“That pious frauds the wisest, best, approve,
“And Heaven but smiles at perjuries in love.”—

No—'tis the Villain's plea, his poor pretence,
To seize a trembling prey, that wants defence.

No—'tis the base sensation Cowards feel,
The wretch that trembles at the brave man's steel;
Fierce and undaunted to a sex appears
That breathes its vengeance but in sighs and tears,
That helpless sex, by Nature's voice addrest
To lean its weakness on your firmer breast,
Protection pleads in vain—th'ungenerous slave
Insults the virtue he was born to save.—

What! shall the lightest promise lips can feign
Bind man to man in Honour's sacred chain?
And oaths to us not sanctify th'accord,
Not Heav'n attested, and Heav'n's awful Lord?
Why various laws for beings form'd the same?
Equal from one indulgent hand we came,
For mutual bliss that each assign'd its place,
With manly vigour temp'ring female grace,
Depriv'd our gentler intercourse, explain
Your solitary pleasures sullen reign;
What tender joys sit brooding o'er your store,
How sweet Ambition's slumbers gorg'd with gore!
'Tis our's th'unsocial passions to controul,
Pour the glad balm that heals the wounded soul;
From Wealth, from Power's delusive, restless dreams
To lure your fancy to diviner theme.—
Confess at length your fancied rights you draw
From force superior, and not Nature's law,
Yet know, by us those boasted arms prevail,
By native gentleness, not man we sail;
With brave revenge a Tyrant's blood to spill
Possessing all the power—we want the will.

Still if you glory in the Lion's force,
Come, nobly emulate that Lion's course!
From guarded herds he vindicates his prey,
Not lurks in fraudful thickets from the day;
While Man, with snares to cheat, with wiles perplex,
Weakens already weak too soft a sex;
In laws, in customs, fashion's fetters binds,
Relaxes all the nerves that brace our minds,
Then, lordly savage, rends the captive heart
First gain'd by treachery, then tam'd by art.—

Are these reflections then that Love inspires?
Is bitter grief the fruit of fair desires?
From whose example could I dream to find
A claim to curse, perhaps to wrong mankind?
Ah! long I strove to burst th'enchanting tie,
And form'd resolves, that ev'n in forming die;
Too long I linger'd on the shipwreck'd coast,
And ey'd the ocean where my wealth was lost!
In silence wept, scarce venturing to complain,
Still to my heart dissembled half my pain—
Ascrib'd my sufferings to its fears, not you;
Beheld you treacherous, and then wish'd you true;
Sooth'd by those wishes, by myself deceiv'd,
I fondly hop'd, and what I hop'd believ'd.—
Cruel! to whom? Ah! whither should I flee,
Friends, fortune, fame, deserted all for thee!
On whom but you my fainting breast repose?
With whom but you deposit all its woes?—
To whom but you explain its stifled groan?
And live for whom? but Love and you alone?
What hand to probe my bleeding heart be found?
What hand to heal?—but his that gave the wound?—

O dreadful chaos of the ruin'd mind!
Lost to itself, to virtue, human kind!
From earth, from heaven, a meteor flaming wide,
Link'd to no system, to no world allied;
A blank of Nature, vanish'd every thought
That Nature, Reason, that Experience taught,
Past, present, future trace, alike destroy'd,
Where Love alone can fill the mighty void:
That Love on unreturning pinions flown
We grasp a shade, the noble substance gone—
From one ador'd and once adoring, dream
Of Friendship's tenderness—ev'n cold esteem
(Humble our vows) rejected with disdain,
Ask a last conference, but a parting strain,
More suppliant still, the wretched suit advance,
Plead for a look, a momentary glance,
A latter token—on Destruction's brink
We catch the feeble plank of Hope, and sink.—

In those dread moments, when the hov'ring flame
Scarce languish'd into life, again you came,
Pursued again a too successful theme,
And dry'd my eyes, with your's again to stream;
When treach'rous tears your venial faults confess'd,
And half dissembled, half excus'd the rest,
To kindred griefs taught pity from my own,
Sighs I return'd, and echo'd groan for groan;
Your self reproaches stifling mine, approv'd,
And much I credited, for much I lov'd.

Not long the soul this doubtful dream prolongs,
If prompt to pardon, not forget its wrongs,
It scorns the traitor, and with conscious pride
Scorns a base self, deserting to his side;
Great by misfortune, greater by despair,
Its Heaven once lost, rejects an humbler care,
To drink the dregs of languid joys disdains,
And flies a passion but perceiv'd from pains;
Too just the rights another claims to steal,
Too good its feelings to wish Virtue feel,
Perhaps too tender or too fierce, my soul
Disclaiming half the heart, demands the whole.—

I blame thee not, that, fickle as thy race,
New loves invite thee, and the old efface,
That cold, insensible, thy soul appears
To Virtue's smiles, to Virtue's very tears;
But ah! an heart whose tenderness you knew,
That offer'd Heaven, but second vows to you,
In fond presumption that securely play'd,
Securely slumber'd in your friendly shade,
Whose every weakness, every sigh to share,
The powers that haunt the perjur'd, heard you swear;
Was this an heart you wantonly resign'd
Victim to Scorn, to Ruin, and Mankind?
Was this an heart?—O shame of Honour, Truth,
Of blushing Candour, and ingenuous Youth!
What means thy pity? what can it restore?
The grave that yawns till general doom's no more,
As soon shall quicken, as my torments cease,
Rock'd on the lap of Innocence and Peace,
As smiles and joy this pensive brow invade,
And smooth the traces by Affliction made,
Flames once extinguish'd Virtue's lamp divine,
And visits Honour, a deserted shrine!
No, Wretch, too long on Passion's ocean tost,
Not Heaven itself restores the good you lost;
The form exists not that thy fancy dream'd,
A Fiend pursues thee that an Angel seem'd;
Impassive to the touch of Reason's ray
His fairy phantom melts in clouds away;
Yet take my pardon in my last farewell,
The wounds you gave, ah cruel! never feel!
Fated like me to court and curse thy fate,
To blend in dreadful union Love and Hate;
Chiding the present moment's slumb'ring haste,
To dread the future, and deplore the past;
Like me condemn th'effect, the cause approve,
Renounce the Lover, and retain the love.
Yes, Love—ev'n now in this ill-fated hour,
An exile from thy joys, I feel thy power.
The Sun to me his noontide blaze that shrouds
In browner horrors than when veil'd in clouds,
The Moon, faint light that melancholy throws,
The streams that murmur, yet not court repose,
The breezes sickening with my mind's disease,
And vallies laughing to all eyes but these,
Proclaim thy absence, Love, whose beam alone
Lighted my morn with glories not its own.
O thou of generous passions purest, best!
Soon as thy flame shot rapture to my breast,
Each pulse expanding, trembled with delight,
And aching vision drank thy lovely light,
A new creation brightened to my view,
Nurs'd in thy smiles the social passions grew,
New strung, the thrilling nerves harmonious rose,
And beat sweet unison to others woes,
Slumb'ring no more a Lethe's lazy flood
In generous currents swell'd the sprightly blood,
No longer now to partial streams confin'd,
Spread like an ocean, and embrac'd mankind,
No more concentering in itself the blaze
The soul diffus'd Benevolence's rays,
Kindled on earth, pursued the etherial road,
In hallow'd flames ascended to its God.—

Yes, Love, thy star of generous influence chears
Our gloomy dwelling in this vale of tears.
What? if a Tyrant's blasting hand destroys
Thy swelling blossoms of expected joys,
Converts to poison what for life was given,
Thy manna dropping from its native Heaven,
Still Love victorious triumphs, still confest
The noblest transport that can warm the breast;
Yes Traitor, yes, my heart to Nature true,
Adores the passion and detests but you.