Valentine Verses or, Lines of Truth, Love, and Virtue. By the Reverend Richard Cobbold |
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THE FATAL AFFECTION. |
 | Valentine Verses |  |
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THE FATAL AFFECTION.
Young Herbert lov'd! alas, he lov'd in vain!
A priest of learning, yet he might not woo;
He felt within the slow consuming pain
And cherish'd passion. He was faithful too,
But one affection had he, that was true;
Yet truth to tell, the luckless lot was his,
To give another all his earthly bliss.
A priest of learning, yet he might not woo;
He felt within the slow consuming pain
And cherish'd passion. He was faithful too,
But one affection had he, that was true;
Yet truth to tell, the luckless lot was his,
To give another all his earthly bliss.
He linger'd long, and wasted day by day,
Still tried to rally, but the heart within
So deeply wounded, slowly pined away,
And wore his frame to nothing. Was it sin
To be so pale, so feeble, and so thin?
Alas! he liv'd this fatal truth to prove,
That life was nothing when depriv'd of Love.
Still tried to rally, but the heart within
So deeply wounded, slowly pined away,
And wore his frame to nothing. Was it sin
To be so pale, so feeble, and so thin?
Alas! he liv'd this fatal truth to prove,
That life was nothing when depriv'd of Love.
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In Peter's Priory young Herbert sate,
In cell that look'd upon the Gipping's shore,
In times monastic, when the pride of state
Extended from the Humber to the Nore;
When Wolsey liv'd, so fam'd for classic lore,
And came with mandate mighty in its pow'r,
To quash the Priories at Freston Tower.
In cell that look'd upon the Gipping's shore,
In times monastic, when the pride of state
Extended from the Humber to the Nore;
When Wolsey liv'd, so fam'd for classic lore,
And came with mandate mighty in its pow'r,
To quash the Priories at Freston Tower.
That very day, alas! the fated priest,
The niece of Daundy he was doom'd to wed,
But not to call the maiden he lov'd best
His own companion: No, another led
The captive fair one to the chancel's head.
Poor Herbert sad, too often there he sigh'd;
Of broken heart, that very morn he died.
The niece of Daundy he was doom'd to wed,
But not to call the maiden he lov'd best
His own companion: No, another led
The captive fair one to the chancel's head.
Poor Herbert sad, too often there he sigh'd;
Of broken heart, that very morn he died.
The tale is true. O never be thy lot
To feel affection fatal to thy life;
Mayst thou accept the faithful marriage knot,
And know and cherish a respected wife;
But think, good Sir, what agony of strife
That man endures, who feels a fatal flame
Devour his soul, and devastate his frame.
To feel affection fatal to thy life;
Mayst thou accept the faithful marriage knot,
And know and cherish a respected wife;
But think, good Sir, what agony of strife
That man endures, who feels a fatal flame
Devour his soul, and devastate his frame.
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