See still the little painted bark, In which I row'd you o'er the lake; See there, high waving o'er the park, The elm I clamber'd for your sake. These times are past our joys are gone, You leave me, leave this happy vale; These scenes I must retrace alone: Without thee what will they avail ? Who can conceive, who has not proved, This is the deepest of our woes, For this these tears our cheeks bedew ; This is of love the final close, Oh, God! the fondest, last adieu ! TO M. S. G. WHENE'ER I view those lips of thine, Yet, I forego that bliss divine, Alas! it were unhallow'd bliss. Whene'er I dream of that pure breast, How could I dwell upon its snows! Yet is the daring wish represt, For that, would banish its repose. A glance from thy soul-searching eye I ne'er have told my love, yet thou Hast seen my ardent flame too well; And shall I plead my passion now, To make thy bosom's heaven a hell? No! for thou never canst be mine, Mine, my beloved, thou ne'er shalt be. Then let the secret fire consume, I will not ease my tortured heart, Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair, Which to obtain my soul would dare, At least from guilt shalt thou be free, No matron shall thy shame reprove ; Though cureless pangs may prey on me, No martyr shalt thou be to love. TO CAROLINE. THINK'ST thou I saw thy beauteous eyes, Though keen the grief thy tears exprest, When love and hope lay both o'erthrown; Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast Throbb'd with deep sorrow as thine own. But when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine, The tears that from my eyelids flow'd Were lost in those which fell from thine. Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek, And yet, my girl, we weep in vain, But that will make us weep the more. Again, thou best beloved, adieu Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret, Nor let thy mind past joys review,Our only hope is to forget! TO CAROLINE. WHEN I hear you express an affection so warm, Ne'er think, my beloved, that I do not believe; For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm, And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive. Yet, still, this fond bosom regrets, while adoring, That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear; That age will come on, when remembrance, deploring, Contemplates the scenes of her youth with a tear; That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the breeze, When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining, Prove nature a prey to decay and disease. Tis this, my beloved, which spreads gloom o'er my features, Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree Which God has proclaim'd as the fate of his creatures, In the death which one day will deprive you of me. Mistake not, sweet sceptic, the cause of emotion, No doubt can the mind of your lover invade; He worships each look with such faithful devotion, A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade. But as death, my beloved, soon or late shall o'ertake us, And our breasts, which alive with such sympathy glow, Will sleep in the grave till the blast shall awake us, When calling the dead, in earth's bosom laid low,— Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure, Which from passion like ours may unceasingly flow; Let us pass round the cup of love's bliss in full measure, And quaff the contents as our nectar below. 1805. TO CAROLINE. OH! when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow? Oh! when shall my soul wing her flight from this |