« НазадПродовжити »
My lyre to tender accents strung,
Superior thoughts my mind engage,
HY heaves my fond bosom ? ah what can it
mean! Why flutters my heart that was once so serene? Why this sighing and trembling when Daphne is
near ? Or why, when she's absent, this sorrow and fear?
Forever, methinks, I with wonder could trace
Untainted by folly, unsullied by pride,
ELL me, Damon, dost thou languish
With a slow, consuming fire;
For the maid thou dost admire ?
Flying, dost thou still pursue her?
Absent, does she haunt thy dream?
Is her worth thy only theme?
If thy heart such passion prove,
Does each rival's merit grieve thee?
Whilst in health, dost thou complain? Can no halm but love relieve thee?
None but Celia ease thy pain? If thy heart such passion prove, Shepherd, thou dost truly love.
Canst thou view each bright perfection
In her mind, and in her face? Does each fault escape detection,
Ev'ry blemish seem a grace? If thy heart such passion prove, Shepherd, thou dost truly love.
Then in love if there be pleasure,
Unallay'd by care or pain, Venus shall confer the treasure
On her true devoted swain. Venus shall thy suit approve; Shepherd, thou dost truly love.
(Bishop of Chichester.]
LL me not bow fair she is,
I never shall come near :
And tell me not how fond I am
To tempt my daring fate
But to repent too late :
I ask no pity, Love, from thee,
Nor will thy justice blame, So that thou wilt not envy me
The glory of my flame : Which crowns my heart whene'er it dies, In that it falls her sacrifice.
E virgin powers ! defend my heart
From amorous looks and smiles, From saucy love, or nicer art,
Which most our sex beguiles.
From sighs, from vows, from awful fears,
That do to pity move ; From speaking-silence, and from tears,
Those springs that water love,
But, if through passion I grow blind,
Let honour be my guide;
There place a guard of pride.
A heart whose flames are seen, tho' pure,
Needs ev'ry virtue's aid, And those who think themselves secure,
The soonest are betray'd.