University of Virginia Library

TO A LADY, WITH SOME RETURNED LETTERS.

Severe the throbbings of my heart,
Since doomed to act this cruel part:
The thoughts of blessed moments past
Crowd swiftly on, as whirlwind's blast.
How marr'd with anguish is my mind!
How little to its fate resign'd—
But since thou hast proved false to me,
Oh! think not I'll dishonour'd be.
Go, probe thy heart, in silent hours,
When nought is there to still its powers;
When all the soul is in its glow,
And streams of thought begin to flow—
Let conscience with firm response prove,
If I have been untrue in love.
With warmest love I've worshipp'd thee,
With all the soul's idolatry.
I never sought that gold of thine,
Thou wert thyself a richer mine;
No selfish venom stung my breast,
Or robb'd affection's sainted rest.
My love, the child of fondness born,
Was to its parent faithful sworn;
The incense of this heart of mine,
Offered at thy beauty's shrine.
To me, more dear thy pearly eyes
Than all Golconda's boasted prize;
And when thy fortune proved a foe,
I bid the paltry bauble go;
And, though other arms may press thee,
While far richer friends caress thee;
Yet, think this earth does not contain
In all its circling wide domain,
One heart that beats more pure than mine,
For that all-fickle one of thine.
Think'st thou I can e'er forget
The summer morn when last we met?
Then heav'n received thy plighted vow,
(Its echo seems to murmur now),
I gazed upon thy beauteous face,
And marked each softly winning grace;
Each feature, then, seem'd made of sense,
The speechless voice of innocence.
When, far from thee, the winged hours flew,
What scenes in prospect fancy drew!
I thought the blissful hour would come
When I should lead thee to mine home,
And prove by each endearing act,
That time would ne'er from love retract;
Had malady's pale sickly flame,
Spread langour o'er thy weakened frame,
I would have held thine aching head,
And watched, like fondness, by thy bed,
And asked of heaven to hear my prayer,
Breathed forth in holy silence there.
If painful griefs had caused annoy,
And quell'd the flush of honest joy,
I would have wiped the falling tear,
And kissed away thy woman's fear;
Have lull'd the tumults of thy breast,
And sunk in peace the sigh suppress'd.
Oh! yes, I'd prov'd so fond to thee,
Thou would'st have call'd me devotee.
But, thou art false—a hollow friend—
These records of deceit I send;
I ne'er can bear to read these lines,
They tell me all thy false designs;
The written images of art,
Which stole away my thoughtless heart;
Ne'er let again thy fingers write,
What thy whole soul does not indite;
'Tis mean on woman's part to be
So insincere, as thou to me—
But, oh! I ne'er with envy's power
Would mar thy dearest, happiest hour—
To thee may heaven prove bounteous kind
And give thee, A**, a virtuous mind.
Where'er may be thy resting spot
May peace and health twine round thy lot;
May rosy hours be passed by thee,
And unregretted moments flee.
Since this poor world can only give
A fleeting semblance while we live,
When that last messenger shall come
To call thee to thy final home,
May friendship close thy dying eyes,
And mercy waft thee to the skies.