 | The village curate and other poems |  |
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TO CECILIA.
Why, O Spring, so in vain are display'd
Thy sweet blossoms that us'd to delight?
And thy branches in beauty array'd,
Why attract they so little my sight?
Why so little regard I the grove,
Or the garden, the mead, and the rill?
Why so dull is the village I love,
And so stupid the vale and the hill?
Thy sweet blossoms that us'd to delight?
And thy branches in beauty array'd,
Why attract they so little my sight?
Why so little regard I the grove,
Or the garden, the mead, and the rill?
Why so dull is the village I love,
And so stupid the vale and the hill?
Ah me! 'tis because a sweet maid
The sad village enlivens no more,
'Tis because from these mountains is stray'd
The dear Girl whom I almost adore!
'Tis because I contemplate alone
The once beautiful charms of the year;
'Tis because sweet Cecilia is gone,
And no more shall be listen'd to here.
The sad village enlivens no more,
'Tis because from these mountains is stray'd
The dear Girl whom I almost adore!
'Tis because I contemplate alone
The once beautiful charms of the year;
'Tis because sweet Cecilia is gone,
And no more shall be listen'd to here.
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Why, alas! not contented to stay,
So abruptly departed the fair?
Why so secretly vanish'd away
Ere my soul of its loss was aware?
Why so suddenly strove she to fly,
And unbless'd from my presence withdrew?
Why retreated, and dropt not a sigh,
Nor imparted a friendly adieu?
So abruptly departed the fair?
Why so secretly vanish'd away
Ere my soul of its loss was aware?
Why so suddenly strove she to fly,
And unbless'd from my presence withdrew?
Why retreated, and dropt not a sigh,
Nor imparted a friendly adieu?
She perhaps would but little regard
Were Alcander to linger and die;
She perhaps may disdain to reward
One so little exalted as I.
She despises my state, nor approves
Of possessions where nothing is fine;
She has elsewhere another she loves,
Whose endowment is ampler than mine.
Were Alcander to linger and die;
She perhaps may disdain to reward
One so little exalted as I.
She despises my state, nor approves
Of possessions where nothing is fine;
She has elsewhere another she loves,
Whose endowment is ampler than mine.
Or her merits, perhaps, deeming few,
And herself at all arts inexpert,
(For she fear'd me, and trembled to shew
What she deem'd her inferior desert,)
She may think 'twere in vain to expect
Admiration or friendship of me;
She may think that I cannot respect
One so little accomplish'd as she.
And herself at all arts inexpert,
(For she fear'd me, and trembled to shew
What she deem'd her inferior desert,)
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Admiration or friendship of me;
She may think that I cannot respect
One so little accomplish'd as she.
Turn again, lovely maid—let the muse
Better hopes to thy bosom impart;
Be assur'd, that the bard who pursues
Can approve with the tenderest heart.
What if fortune a step-mother seem,
And his superflux now may be none;
She ere long may avow her esteem,
And proclaim him her favourite son.
Better hopes to thy bosom impart;
Be assur'd, that the bard who pursues
Can approve with the tenderest heart.
What if fortune a step-mother seem,
And his superflux now may be none;
She ere long may avow her esteem,
And proclaim him her favourite son.
O return, and let mutual desire
In thy look, in thy accent be found—
Let Amelia again touch the lyre,
And refresh the sad vale with its sound.
Let thine own rapid finger mine ear
To sweet music for ever incline;
For thy bosom has nothing to fear;
And I would that as little had mine.
In thy look, in thy accent be found—
Let Amelia again touch the lyre,
And refresh the sad vale with its sound.
Let thine own rapid finger mine ear
To sweet music for ever incline;
For thy bosom has nothing to fear;
And I would that as little had mine.
| The village curate and other poems | |