Poems, &c. (1790) Part 5

Since ev'ry secret wish is vain, I will not stay to give thee pain.

Then do not hang thy low'ring brow, But let me bless thee ere I go: Nor, O, despise my last adieu!

I've lov'd thee long, and lov'd thee true.

The prospects of my youth are crost, My health is flown, my vigour lost; My soothing friends augment my pain, And cheerless is my native plain; Dark o'er my spirit hangs the gloom, And thy disdain has fix'd my doom.

But light gales ruffle o'er the sea, Which soon shall bear me far from thee; And wherefoe'er our course is cast, I know will bear me to my rest.

Full deep beneath the briny wave, Where rest the venturous and brave, A place may be decreed for me; And should no tempest raise the sea, Far hence upon a foreign land, Whose sons, perhaps, with friendly hand The stranger's lowly tomb may raise; A broken heart will end my days.

But Heaven's blessing on thee rest!

And may no troubles vex thy breast!

Perhaps, when pensive and alone, You'll think of me when I am gone; And gentle tears of pity shed, When I am in my narrow bed.

Yet softly let thy sorrow flow!

And greater may'st thou never know!

All free from worldly care and strife, Long may'ft thou live a happy life!

And ev'ry earthly blessing find, Thou loveliest of womankind: And blest thy secret wishes be!

Tho' cruel thou hast been to me.

And do'st thou then thine arm extend And may I take thy lovely hand?

And do thine eyes thus gently look, As tho' some kindly wish they spoke?

My gentle Phillis, tho' severe, I do not grudge the ills I bear; But still my greatest grief will be, To think my love has troubled thee.

O, do not scorn this swelling grief!

The laden bosom seeks relief: Nor yet this infant weakness blame, For thou hast made me what I am.

But hark! the sailors call away, No longer may I ling'ring stay; May peace within thy mansion dwell!

O, gentle Phillis, fare thee well!

A CHEERFUL TEMPERED LOVER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS.

The light winds on the streamers play That soon shall bear me far away; My comrades give the parting cheer, And I alone have linger'd here.

Now Phill. my love, since it will be, And I must bid farewell to thee, Since ev'ry hope of thee is flown, Ne'er send me from thee with a frown; But let me kindly take thy hand, And bid G.o.d bless me in a foreign land.

No more I'll loiter by thy side, Well pleas'd thy gamesome taunts to bide; Nor lovers' gambols lightly try To make me graceful in thine eye; Nor sing the merry roundelay, To cheer thee at the close of day.

Yet ne'ertheless tho' we must part, I'll bear thee still upon my heart; And oft' I'll fill the ruddy gla.s.s, To toast my lovely scornful la.s.s.

Far hence, upon a foreign sh.o.r.e, Still will I keep an open door, And still my little fortune share With all who ever breath'd my native air.

And who thy beauteous face hath seen, Or ever near thy dwelling been, Shall push about the flowing bowl, And be the matter of the whole.

And ev'ry woman for thy sake, Though proud and cruel, as they're weak, Shall in my walls protection find, Thou fairest of a fickle kind.

O, dearly! dearly! have I paid, Thou little haughty cruel maid, To give that inward peace to thee, Which thou hast ta'en away from me.

Soft hast thou slept, with bosom light, Whilst I have watch'd the weary night; And now I cross the surgy deep, That thou may'st still untroubled sleep-- But in thine eyes, what do I see, That looks as tho' they pitied me?

I thank thee, Phill. yet be not sad, I leave no blame upon thy head.

I would, more grac'd with pleasing make, I had been better for thy sake, But yet, perhaps, when I shall dwell Far hence, thou'lt sometimes think how well-- I dare not stay, since we must part, T'expose a fond and foolish heart; Where'er I go, it beats for you, G.o.d bless ye, Phill. adieu! adieu!

A PROUD LOVER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS.

Farewell thou haughty, cruel fair!

Upon thy brow no longer wear That sombre look of cold disdain, Thou ne'er shalt see my face again.

Now ev'ry silly wish is o'er, And fears and doubtings are no more.

All cruel as thou art to me, Long has my heart been fix'd on thee; On thee I've mus'd the live-long day, And thought the weary night away; I've trac'd thy footsteps o'er the green, And shar'd thy rambles oft unseen; I've linger'd near thee night and day, When thou hast thought me far away; I've watch'd the turning of thy face, And fondly mark'd thy moving grace; And wept thy rising smiles to see; I've been a fool for love of thee.

Yet do not think I stay the while Thy weakly pity to beguile: Let forced favour fruitless prove!

The pity curst, that brings not love!

No woman e'er shall give me pain, Or ever break my rest again: Nor aught that comes of woman kind Have pow'r again to move my mind.

Far on a foreign sh.o.r.e I'll seek Some lonely island, bare and bleak; I'll seek some wild and rugged cell, And with untamed creatures dwell.

To hear their cries is now my choice, Far more than man's deceitful voice: To listen to the howling wind, Than luring tongue of womankind.

They look not beautiful and good, But ronghsome seem as they are rude.

O Phillis! thou hast wreck'd a heart, Which proudly bears, but feels the smart.

Adieu! adieu! should'st thou e'er prove The pang of ill-requited love, Thou'lt know what I have borne for thee, And then thou wilt remember me.

A POET, OR, SOUND-HEARTED LOVER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS.

Fair Nymph, who dost my fate controul, And reign'st the mistress of my soul, Where thou all bright in beauties ray Hast held a long tyrannick sway, They who the hardest rule maintain, In their commands do still refrain From what impossible must prove, But thou hast bade me cease to love; Nor would some gentle mercy give, And only bid me cease to live.

Ah! when the magnet's pow'r is o'er, The compa.s.s then will point no more; And when no verdure cloaths the spring, The tuneful birds forget to sing: But thou all sweet and heav'nly fair, Hast bade thy swain from love forbear.

In pity let thine own fair hand A death's-wound to this bosom send: This tender heart of purest faith May then resign thee with its breath; And in the sun-beam of thine eye A proud and willing victim die.

But since thou wilt not have it so, Far from thy presence will I go: Far from my heart's dear bliss I'll stray, Since I no longer can obey.

In foreign climes I'll distant roam, No more to hail my native home: To foreign swains I'll pour my woe, In foreign plains my tears shall flow: By murm'ring stream and shady grove Shall other echoes tell my love; And richer flow'rs of vivid hue Upon my tomb shall other maidens strew.

Adieu, dear Phillis! should'ft thou e'er Some soft and plaintive story hear, Of hapless youth who died for love, Or all forlorn did banish'd rove, O think of me! nor then deny The gentle tribute of a sigh.

It may be objected that all these lovers are equally sad, though one is a cheerful, the other a melancholy lover. It is true they are all equally sad, for they are all equally in love, and in despair, when it is impossible for them to be otherwise; but if I have pictured their farewell complaints in such a way as to give you an idea that one lover is naturally of a melancholy, one of a cheerful, and one of a proud temper, I have done all that is intended.

THE STORM-BEAT MAID.

SOMEWHAT AFTER THE STYLE OF OUR OLD ENGLISH BALLADS.

All shrouded in the winter snow, The maiden held her way; Nor chilly winds that roughly blow, Nor dark night could her stay.

O'er hill and dale, through bush and briar, She on her journey kept; Save often when she 'gan to tire, She stop'd awhile and wept.

Wild creatures left their caverns drear, To raise their nightly yell; But little doth the bosom fear, Where inward troubles dwell.

No watch-light from the distant spire, To cheer the gloom so deep, Nor twinkling star, nor cottage fire Did thro' the darkness peep.

Yet heedless still she held her way, Nor fear'd the crag nor dell; Like ghost that thro' the gloom to stray, Wakes with the midnight bell.

Now night thro' her dark watches ran, Which lock the peaceful mind; And thro' the neighb'ring hamlets 'gan To wake the yawning hind.

Yet bark of dog, nor village c.o.c.k, That spoke the morning near; Nor gray-light trembling on the rock, Her 'nighted mind could cheer.