Still to thy mind should time impart
A charm, to bid it feel sincerely,
Nor idly wound a breaking heart—
That lov'd thee long-and lov'd thee dearly.
Could gold thy truant fancy bind,
A faithful heart would still content me; For, O! to gain that heart unkind,
I gave thee all that fortune lent me :
In youth, when suitors round me press'd,
Who vow'd to love, and love sincerely-
When wealth could never charm my breast,
Though thou wert poor,-I lov'd thee dearly.
Seek not the fragile dreams of love,
Such fleeting phantoms will deceive thee;
They will but transient idols prove,
In wealth beguile, in sorrow leave thee:
Ah! dost thou hope the sordid mind,
When thou art poor, will feel sincerely?
Wilt thou in such that friendship find,
Which warm'd the heart that lov'd thee dearly?
Though fickle passions cease to burn
For her so long thy bosom's treasure;
Ah! think that reason may return,
When far from thee my paths I measure :
Say, who will then thy conscience heal,
Or who shall bid thy heart beat cheerly?
Or, from that heart the memory steal
Of her who lov'd thee long and dearly?
When war shall rouse the brooding storm,
And horrors haunt thy thorny pillow;
When fancy shall present my form,
Borne on the wild and restless billow;
O! where wilt thou a mistress find,
Whose pulse, like mine, shall throb sincerely? Or who thy heart in spells shall bind—
When her's is broke—that lov'd thee dearly?
When thou contending throngs shalt court,
Where party zeal has doubly crown'd thee,
Perchance of fortune's frowns the sport,
Caprice or cold neglect may wound thee:
Then wilt thou find no generous heart
To bid thee bear misfortune cheerly;
No friend in grief to bear a part,
Like her who lov'd thee long and dearly.
Could I to distant regions stray.
From thee my thoughts wou.d never wander; For, at the purpling close of day,
By some lone vagrant rill's meander,
Each wandering bee, each chilling wind,
Would tell the heart that's broken nearly,
In them, where'er they rove, to find
The faults of him I lov'd so dearly!
I will not court thy fickle love;
Soon shall our fates and fortunes sever;
Far from thy scorn will I remove,
And smiling, sigh—' Adieu for ever!'
Give to the sordid fiends thy days,
Still trust that they will act sincerely,
And, when the specious mask decays,
Lament the heart-that lov'd thee dearly!
For time will swiftly journey on,
And age, with sickness, haste to meet thee ; Friends prove deceitful, wantons shun—
When they no more with smiles can cheat thee.
Then wilt thou seek, in vain, to find
A faithful heart, that beats sincerely;
A passion-centering in the mind,
Which, scorning interest, lov'd thee dearly!
When in the grave my woes shall sleep,
No soothing dream will bless thy slumber;
For thou wilt often wake to weep,
And, in despair, my sorrows number:
My shade will haunt thy aching eyes,
My voice, in whispers, tell thee clearly,
How cold, at last, that bosom lies,
Which lov'd thee long-and lov'd thee dearly!
WRITTEN BETWEEN DOVER AND CALAIS, JULY, 1792.
BOUNDING Billow, cease thy motion,
Bear me not so swiftly o'er ;
Cease thy roarings, foamy Ocean;
I will tempt thy rage no more.
Ah! within my bosom beating,
Varying passions wildly reign;
Love, with proud Resentment meeting,
Throbs, by turns, with joy and pain.
Joy, that far from foes I wander,
Where their arts can reach no more!
Pain, that woman's heart grows fonder
When her dream of bliss is o'er.
Far I go, where Fate shall lead me,
Far across the restless deep,
Where no stranger's ear shall heed me,
Where no eye for me shall weep.
Proud has been my fatal passion,
Proud my injur'd heart shall be;
For each thought, each inclination,
Still shall prove me-worthy thee!
Not one sigh shall tell my story;
Not one tear my cheek shall stain;
Silent grief shall be my glory;
Grief, that stoops not to complain!
Yet, e'er far from all I treasur'd,
********, ere I bid adieu;
Ere my days of pain are measur'd,
Take the song that's still thy due.
I have loy'd thee-dearly lov'd thee,
Through an age of worldly woe!
How ungrateful I have prov'd thee,
Let my mournful exile show!
Ten long years of anxious sorrow,
Hour by hour, I counted o'er ;
Looking forward, till to-morrow,
Every day I lov'd thee more!
Wealth and splendor could not charm me,
Rank possess'd no lure for me;
Nor could threats or fears alarm me;
Save the fear of losing Thee!
When the storms of Fortune press'd thee,
I have wept to see thee weep;
When relentless cares distress'd thee,
I have lull'd those cares to sleep.
Think, when all the world forsook thee,
When with grief thy soul was prest,
How to these fond arms I took thee-
How I clasp'd thee to my breast!
Often hast thou smiling told me,
• Wealth and pow'r were trifling toys,
When thou fondly didst enfold me,
Rich in Love's luxuriant joys!'
Fare thee well, ungrateful Rover-
Welcome Gallia's hostile shore !
Now the breezes waft me over;
Now we part-to meet no more.
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