TO MISS LUCY FORTESCUE.

ONCE by the Muse alone inspir'd
I sung my amorous strains;
No serious love my bosom fir'd,
Yet ev'ry tender maid deceiv'd
The idly-mournful tale believ'd.
And wept my fancy'd pains.

But Venus now to punish me
For having feign'd so well,
Has made my heart so fond of thee
That not the whole Aonian choir
Can accents soft enough inspire
Its real flame to tell.

TO THE SAME.

WITH HAMMOND'S ELEGIES.

ALL that of love can be exprest

In these soft numbers see,

But, Lucy! would you know the rest

It must be read in me.

TO THE SAME.

I.

To him who in an hour must die
Not swifter seems that hour to fly

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Than slow the minutes seem to me

Which keep me from the sight of thee.

II.

Not more that trembling wretch would give
Another day or year to live

Than I to shorten what remains

Of that long hour which thee detains.

III.

Oh! come to my impatient arms,

Oh! come with all thy heav'nly charms,
At once to justify and pay

The pain I feel from this delay.

Το

TO THE SAME.

I.

o ease my troubled mind of anxious care Last night the secret casket I explor'd

Where all the letters of my absent fair
(His richest treasure) careful Love had stor❜d.

II.

In ev'ry word a magick spell I found

Of pow'r to charm each busy thought to rest,
Tho' ev'ry word increas'd the tender wound
Of fond desire still throbbing in my breast.
III.

So to his hoarded gold the miser steals,
And loses ev'ry sorrow at the sight,
Yet wishes still for more, nor ever feels
Entire contentment or secure delight.

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IV.

Ah! should I lose thee my too lovely Maid!
Couldst thou forget thy heart was ever mine,
Fear not thy letters should the change upbraid;
My hand each dear memorial shall resign.

V.

Not one kind word shall in my pow'r remain
A painful witness of reproach to thee;

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And lest my heart should still their sense retain, My heart shall break to leave thee wholly free. 20

A PRAYER TO VENUS.

IN HER TEMPLE AT STOWE.

To the Same.

I.

FAIR Venus! whose delightful shrine surveys
Its front reflected in the silver lake,

These humble off'rings which thy servant pays,
Fresh flow'rs and myrtle wreaths, propitious take.4
II.

If less my love exceeds all other love

Than Lucy's charms all other charms excel,

Far from my breast each soothing hope remove,
And there let sad Despair for ever dwell.

III.

But if my soul is fill'd with her alone,
No other wish nor other object knows,

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Oh, make her Goddess! make her all my own,
And give my trembling heart secure repose!

IV.

No watchful spies I ask to guard her charms,
No walls of brass, no steel-defended door;
Place her but once within my circling arms,
Love's surest fort, and I will doubt no more.

TO THE SAME,

ON HER PLEADING WANT OF TIME.

I..

ON Thames' bank a gentle youth

For Lucy sigh'd with matchless truth
Ev'n when he sigh'd in rhyme;

The lovely maid his flame return'd,

And would with equal warmth have burn'd,
But that she had not time.

In secret shades his fair to meet

Beneath th' accustom'd lime;

She would have fondly met him there,
And heal'd with love each tender care,
But that she had not time.

III.

"It was not thus, inconstant Maid! "You acted once," the shepherd said, "When love was in its prime."

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She griev'd to hear him thus complain,
And would have writ to ease his pain,
But that she had not time.

IV.

How can you act so cold a part?

No crime of mine has chang'd your heart,
If love be not a crime.-

We soon must part for months, for years.-
She would have answer'd with her tears,
But that she had not time.

TO THE SAME.

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YOUR shape, your lips, your eyes, are still the same,
Still the bright object of my constant flame ;
But where is now the tender glance that stole
With gentle sweetness my enchanted soul,
Kind fears, impatient wishes, soft desires,
Each melting charm that love alone inspires ?
These, these are lost; and I behold no more
The maid my heart delighted to adore.
Yet still unchang'd, still doting to excess,
I ought but dare not try to love you less;
Weakly I grieve, unpity'd I complain,
But not unpunish'd shall your change remain ;
For you, cold Maid! whom no complaints can move,

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Were far more blest when you like me could love. 14