ELEGY II. The INVALID.
Tho' scarce I breathe (or breathe with toil and pain)
Intemp'rate pulses all unequal beat;
And tho' my fainting lungs can scarce sustain
Their wonted task, oppress'd with inward heat.
At sultry eve I court no fanning breeze,
Upon no river's cooling margin stray;
Nor seek refreshing shelter from the trees,
When bright Meridian darts his scorching ray.
Can Zephyr breathing thro' the poplar shade,
Can all the water in the Naiad's urns
Efface the image of my dearest maid?
Or quench Love's flame that in my bosom burns?
Yet let me strive to heal my bleeding heart.—
My waining health, ah! how shall I regain?
Verse may have pow'r to draw Love's venom'd dart;
And musick's charms may ease this feverish pain.
To rosy Health I'll tune my sober lyre,
Invoke her presence with a sprightly strain,
Till kindly she my bosom reinspire.—
Love mocks my toil, and says, “That toil were vain!”
With black Despair the Goddess scorns to dwell;
She seeks the breasts that jolly pastimes fire.—
My heart, alas! can by experience tell,
'Tis only Delia's smiles can Health inspire.
And why can Delia never, never smile?
Or with one distant hope relieve my care?
Why will she not my wretchedness beguile,
And banish, with responsive Love, Despair?
Content whole years I'll wear the servile chain,
And deem an age in sighs and tears well past,
If Delia'll pity my long-during pain,
And pay my sufferings with her love at last.
Oh shew me, then, one distant, cheerful ray,
And well contented I'll my course pursue:
The gleam of Hope shall 'luminate my way,
And bear me up Life's tedious journey thro'.
