The Battle of Largs A Gothic Poem. With Several Miscellaneous Pieces [by John Galt] |
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THE
LOVER TO HIS HEART. |
 | The Battle of Largs |  |
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THE LOVER TO HIS HEART.
Lie still, lie still, fond flutt'ring heart,
Thine anguish d pulses throb in vain!
For she that barbs the mystic dart,
Knows not thy sad, thy secret pain.
Thine anguish d pulses throb in vain!
For she that barbs the mystic dart,
Knows not thy sad, thy secret pain.
Mine eyes with rude unconscious gaze
Pursue her form through all the dance;
But her's as oft with strange amaze
Rebuke my wild unwary glance.
Pursue her form through all the dance;
But her's as oft with strange amaze
Rebuke my wild unwary glance.
Whene'er the changeful measure brings
Her gentle hand to meet with mine,
From the soft touch electric springs
Delicious pangs, distress divine.
Her gentle hand to meet with mine,
From the soft touch electric springs
Delicious pangs, distress divine.
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Lie still, lie still, fond flutt'ring heart,
Stern Fortune lets thee beat in vain;
And she that barbs Love's powerful dart
Shall never know thy secret pain.
Stern Fortune lets thee beat in vain;
And she that barbs Love's powerful dart
Shall never know thy secret pain.
| The Battle of Largs | |