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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 !
WHEN I loved you, I can't but allow
I had many an exquisite minute ; But the scom that I feel for you now
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!
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 :
Could make such virtue false at last !
For thee were but a worthless shrine
Must thrill a soul more pure than mine.
That heart can feel or tongue can feigu ; 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
(As lovers steal to bliss)
As chough they did not kiss!
The silent sea before us,
No eye but Nature's o'er us !
All that we wished and thought; 'Twas more than tongue could dare reveal, 'Twas more than virtue ought to feel,
But all that passion ought!
Before us faintly gleamed ;
Good heaven! how sweet it seemea !
Could tangle me or you in! Sweet Nea ! let us roam no more Along that wild and lonely shore;
Such walks will be our ruin!
You read it in my languid eyes,
And there alone should love be read; You hear me say it all in sighs,
And thus alone should love be said. Then dread no more; I will not speak;
Although my heart to anguish thrill, I'll spare the burning of your cheek,
And look it all in silence still ! Heard you the wish I dared to name,
To murmur on that luckless night, When passion broke the bonds of shame,
And love grew madness in your sight? Divinely through the graceful dance
You seemed to float in silent song, Bending to earth that beamy glance,
As if to light your steps along !
Oh! how could others dare to touch
That hallowed form with hand so free,
Too rare for all but heaven and me!
How fatal were the beams they threw,
And round me, like a spirit, flew.
My soul forgot-nor oh ! condemn
My soul forgot all eyes but them!
Rapture of every thought bereft me;
But, with a bound, you blushing left me.
Forgive it, if, alas ! you can ;
'Twas all the best and worst of man !
Of heaven and earth my madness view,
But you alone, but only you !
Myriads of eyes to me were none;
A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY.
And traced that happy period over
And wisdom grace the tenderest lover !
Upon the bank awhile I stood,
Her tears of light on Ariel's flood.
Were lighted by a Grecian sky-
That yet was warm with Sappho's sigh!