All I of Venus ask is this, No more to let us join ; But grant me here the flatt'ring bliss, [PRIOR.] IF wine and music have the power The sorrows of this live-long night. But she to-morrow will return; [LYTTELTON.] WHEN Delia on the plain appears, Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear If she some other swain commend, When she is absent, I no more When fond of power, of beauty vain, Her nets she spread for every swain, I strove to hate, but vainly strove ; Tell me, my heart, if this be love? AH! why must words my flame reveal? Why needs my Damon bid me tell, What all my actions prove? A blush whene'er I meet his eye, Whene'er I hear his name, a sigh In all their sports upon the plain The rest unheeded dance or play, Whene'er we meet, my looks confess And every care remove; Still, still too short appears his stay, The moments fly too fast away, Does any speak in Damon's praise, But is he blam'd, although in jest, I feel resentmenr fire my Alas! because I love. breast, But ah! what tortures tear my heart, I hate the maid that gives me pain, For ah! that hate is love. Then ask not words, but read mine eyes, Believe my blushes, trust my sighs, My passion these will prove; Words oft deceive and spring from art, The true expressions of my heart To Damon, must be love. COME here, fond youth, whoeʼer thou be, And if thy breast have felt so wide a wound, I'll teach thee what it is to love, And by what marks true passion may be found. It is to be all bath'd in tears, It is to do all this and think thy sufferings sweet. It is to gaze upon her eyes With eager joy and fond surprize, Yet temper'd with such chaste and awful fear Tho' but in whispers breath'd, to meet her ear. |