ODE XXIX.
SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY
COLONEL LOVELACE,
AFTER HIS CONFINEMENT, WHILE YET IN A STATE
OF POVERTY
.
I
Fair charmer, heed not what I say;
This heart, so studious to complain,
When sighing sad, it could not love again,
Breath'd but a false, tho' plaintive lay.
II
From me Love will not, cannot flee,
That ancient inmate of my breast;
No!—he must be my constant, constant guest,
Long as these eyes can gaze on thee.
III
When I survey that modest grace,
See Kindness thro' thine eyelid shine,
New tumults move within this breast of mine;
I fall the victim of thy face.
IV
And what tho' Fortune should deny
On thee her favours to bestow?
Still Love shall give my secret breast to glow;
The Muse forbid thy name to die.
