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i cannot warn thee; every touch,
That brings my pulses close to thine, Tells me I want thy aid as much,
Oh! quite as much, as thou dost mine! Yet stay, dear love—one effort yet
A moment turn those eyes away, And let me, if I can, forget
The light that leads my soul astray ! Thou sayest that we were born to meet,
That our hearts bear one common seal O Lady! think how man's deceit
Can seem to sigh and feign to feel ! When o'er thy face some gleam of thought
Like daybeams through the morning air, Hath gradual stole, and I have caught
The feeling ere it kindled there : The sympathy I then betrayed
Perhaps was but the child of art; The guile of one who long hath played
With all these wily nets of heart. Oh! thou hast not my virgin vow;
Though few the years I yet have toid, Canst thou believe I live till now
With Loveless heart or senses cold? No—many a throb of bliss and pain
For many a maid my soul hath provea; With some I wantoned wild and vain,
While some I truly, dearly loved ! The cheek to thine I fondly lay
To theirs hath been as fondly laid ; The words to thee I warmly say
To them have been as warmly said. Then, scorn at once a languid heart
Which long hath lost its early spring; Think of the pure, bright soul thou art.
And--keep the ring, oh! keep the ring. Enough—now, turn thine eyes again ;
What, still that look and still that sigh? Dost thou not feel my counsel then?
Oh! no, beloved !-nor do I.
While thus to mine thy bosom lies,
While thus our breaths commingling g!o:na "Twere more than woman to be wise,
"Twere more than man to wish thee so !
Q Did we not love so true, so dear,
This lapse could never be forgiven; But hearts so fond and lips so near
Give me the ring, and now-0 heaven!
ON SEEING HER WITH A WHITE VEIL AND A RICH GIRDLE
Μαργαριται δηλουσι δακρυων ροον.
Ap. Nicephor. in Oneirocriticva
Let weeping angels view it;
And blush repenting through it.
The lucid pearls around it
The hour that Love unbound it.
-- vo cercand' io Donna, quant'e possibile, in altrui La desiata vostra forma vera.
Petrarc, Sonett. 24 Yes, if 'twere any common love
That led my pliant heart astray, I grant, there's not a power above
Could wipe the faithless crime away? But 'twas my doom to err with one
In every look so like to thee That oh beneath the blessed sun
So fair there are but thou and she !
Whate'er may be her angel birth,
She was thy lovely, perfect twin, And wore the only shape on earth,
That could have charmed my soul to sin! Yoʻir eyes !—the eyes of languid doves
Were never half so like each other ! The glances of the baby loves
Resemble less their warm-eyed mother ?
When such a lip I fondly pressed ;
And when, with all thy murmuring tone,
They sued half-open to be kissed, I could as soon resist thine own,
And them, Heaven knows, I ne'er resist Then scorn me not, though false I be,
'Twas love that waked the dear excess; My heart had been more true to thee,
Had mine eye prized thy beauty less !
I had many an exquisite minute;
Hath even more luxury in it! Thus, whether we're on or we're off,
Some witchery seems to await you; To love you is pleasant enough,
And oh ! 'tis delicious to hate you !
FROM THE GREEK OF MELEAGER.
It was but last delicious night
And caught her eyes' reflected light! Oh ! haste, and twine it round my brow; It breathes of Heliodora now! The loving rosebud drops a tear To see the nymph no longer here, No longer, where she used to lie, Close to my heart's devoted sigh !
WRITTEN IN A STORM AT SEA.
THAT sky of clouds is not the sky
Of her he loves-
That rapture moves.
Yet do I feel more tranquil far
In this dark hour,
To Julia's bower.
To rapture's thrill ;
Lies mute and still !
In the cold deep,
But all must sleep!
Oh! most to him
Round misery's brim. Yes--he can smile serene at death : Kind Heaven! do Thou but chase the weeping
Of friends who love him ; Tell them that he lies calmly sleeping Where sorrow's sting or envy's breath
No more shall move him.
ODES TO NEA.
WRITTEN AT BERMUDA.
There was a time when love was sweet ;
Our souls had not been slow to meet ! But oh! this weary heart hath run,
So many a time, the rounds of pain,
Would I endure such pangs again.
Should bring no more their bliss, their pain.
Though little prized when all my own,
As when they first enamouring shone!
Endearing still, reproaching never,
And be thy own more fixed than ever?
Could bind such faithless folly fast: And sure on earth 'tis I alone
Could make such virtue false at last!
Vea ! the heart which she forsook
For thee were but a worthless shrineGo, lovely girl, that angel look
Must thrill a soul more pure than mine. Oh! thou shalt be all else to me
That heart can feel or tongue can feign ; I'll praise, admire, and worship thee,
But must not, dare not love again.
ODES TO NEA,
Where late we thoughtless strayed ;
Such lonely walks were made. That little Bay, where, winding in From ocean's rude and angry din,