Join to my cheek thy cold and dewy face,
And let pale Grief to glowing Love give place.
O fpeak-for wo in filence most appears;
Speak, ere my fancy magnify my fears.
Is there a cause which words cannot exprefs?
Can I not bear a part, nor make it lefs?
I know not what to think- Am I in fault?
I have not, to my knowledge, err'd in thought,
Nor wander'd from my love, nor would I be
Lord of the world to live depriv'd of thee.
You weep afresh, and at that word you start!
Am I to be depriv'd then?-muft we part?
Curfe on that word, fo ready to be spoke,
For thro' my lips unmeant by me it broke.
Oh! no; we must not, will not, cannot, part,
And my tongue talks unprompted by my heart.
Yet fpeak, for my distraction grows apace,
And racking fears and restless doubts increase;
And fears and doubts to jealousy will turn,
The hotteft hell in which a heart can burn.
O SLEEP! thou flatterer of happy minds,
How foon a troubled breaft thy falfehood finds!
Thou common friend, officious in thy aid,
Where no diftrefs is shown, nor want betray'd:
But, oh! how fwift, how fure thou art to fhun
The wretch by Fortune or by Love undone!
Where are thy gentle dews, thy fofter pow'rs,
Which us'd to wait upon my midnight hours!
Why doft thou cease thy hov'ring wings to spread
With friendly shade around my restless bed?
Can no complainings thy compaffion move?
Is thy antipathy fo ftrong to love?
O no! thou art the profp'rous lover's friend,
And doft uncall'd his pleafing toils attend:
Wich equal kindness and with rival charms,
Thy flambers lull him in his fair one's arms;
Or from her bofom he to thine retires,
Where footh'd with ease the panting youth respires,
Till foft repose restore his drooping fenfe,
And rapture is reliev'd by indolence.
But, oh! what fortune does the lover bear,
Forlorn'd by thee and haunted by Despair!
From tacking thoughts by no kind flumber freed,
But painful nights his joyless days fucceed.
But why, dull God' do I of thee complain?
Thou didst not cause, nor canft thou ease, my pain.
Forgive what my distracting grief has said,
I own unjustly I thy floth upbraid;
For oft' I have thy proffer'd aid repell'd,
And my reluctant eyes from reft withheld,
Implor'd the Muse to break thy gentle chains,
And fung with Philomel my nightly strains :
With her I fing, but cease not with her song,
For more enduring woes my lays prolong.
The morning lark to mine accords his note,
And tunes to my distress his warbling throat;
Each fetting and each rifing fun I mourn,
Wailing alike his absence and return:
And all for thee-What had 1 well-nigh faid?
Let me not name thee, thou too charming Maid! 40
No-as the wing'd musicians of the grove,
Th' affociates of my melody and love,
In moving founds alone relate their pain,
And not with voice articulate complain;
So fhall my Mufe my tuneful forrows fing,
And lofe in air her name from whom they spring.
O may no wakeful thoughts her mind molest,
Soft be her flumbers, and fincere her reft :
For her, O Sleep! thy balmy fweets prepare;
The peace I lofe for her to her transfer
Hufh'd as the falling dews, whofe noifelefs fhow'rs Impearl the folded leaves of ev'ning flow'rs,
Steal on her brow; and as those dews attend,
Till warn'd by waking day to reascend,
So wait thou for her morn; then gently rise,
And to the world restore the daybreak of her eyes. 56
TO A CANDLE.
THOU watchful Taper! by whose filent light
I lonely pass the melancholy night;
Thou faithful Witness of my secret pain!
To whom alone I venture to complain,
O learn with me my hopeless love to moan;
Commiferate a life fo like thy own.
Like thine, my flames to my destruction turn,
Wafting that heart by which supply'd they burn:
Like thine, my joy and fuff'ring they display,
At once are signs of life and symptoms of decay: 10
And as thy fearful flames the day decline,
And only during night prefume to shine,
Their humble rays not daring to aspire
Before the fun, the fountain of their fire;
So mine with conscious fhame and equal awe,
To fhades obfcure and folitude withdraw,
Nor dare their light before her eyes disclose,
From whose bright beams their being first arose. 18
I LOOK'D, and I figh'd, and I wish'd I could speak,
And very fain would have been at her;
But when I ftrove most my fond paffion to break,
Still then I faid least of the matter.
I fwore to myself, and refolv'd I would try
Some way my poor heart to recover;
But that was all vain, for I fooner could die
Than live with forbearing to love her.
Dear Celia! be kind then; and since your own eyes
By looks can command adoration,
Give mine leave to talk too, and do not despise
Those oglings that tell you my paffion.
We'll look, and we 'll love, and tho' neither fhould The pleasure we 'll still be pursuing;
And fo, without words, I don't doubt we may make A very good end of this wooing.
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