 | The Battle of Largs |  |
64
TO DELIA.
Deride me not, but softly tell
What is this dear delicious spell,
That makes my soul in absence see,
No form but thine, no thought but thee.
What is this dear delicious spell,
That makes my soul in absence see,
No form but thine, no thought but thee.
Thee I have met with fond surprise
In many a stranger's azure eyes;
In many a lovely stranger's mien,
All present! thee I oft have seen.
In many a stranger's azure eyes;
In many a lovely stranger's mien,
All present! thee I oft have seen.
When round the social board I sit,
Where Fancy sparkles into Wit,
Whate'er is polish'd, keen, or gay,
Reminds me of thy sprightly play.
Where Fancy sparkles into Wit,
Whate'er is polish'd, keen, or gay,
Reminds me of thy sprightly play.
65
And if sedater groupes I join,
Their wisdom dimly shadows thine;
And Lore the baldpate only seems
The dull reflector of thy beams.
Their wisdom dimly shadows thine;
And Lore the baldpate only seems
The dull reflector of thy beams.
Even in the solemn scenes of woe,
Where sympathetic sorrows flow,
My wand'ring thoughts unconscious trace
Of thee some tender pensive grace.
Where sympathetic sorrows flow,
My wand'ring thoughts unconscious trace
Of thee some tender pensive grace.
Deride me not, but softly tell
What is the dear delicious spell,
That makes my soul in absence see
No form but thine, no thought but thee.
What is the dear delicious spell,
That makes my soul in absence see
No form but thine, no thought but thee.
| The Battle of Largs | |