« PředchozíPokračovat »
Every gazer's eye attracting,
MISS MARY GASSAWAY.
WITH softer form, with milder air,
MISS ELIZA JENNINGS.
BUT say, what Nymph, now meets my view?
NOW again we turn the glass,
MISS ANN HIGINBOTHOM.
SEE at last the maid return'd
MISS JANE SELBY.
BUT while the rest in beauteous throng, Gay, and lovely move along; Why does Delia, still delay Her modest graces to display? Why does she her smiles deny? Blushing beauty, tell me why.Timid fair one, do not fear, With theirs thy virtues to compare; They are lovely it is true, But Delia thou art lovely too. Though retir'd the vi'let grows, Though half seen the budding rose, Are they therefore less admir'd Because half seen, because retir'd. Though thy faithful glass may show Rosy cheeks, and neck of snow, Yet no glass can e'er impart The image of thy gentle heart. No malignant passion there Ever ventur'd to appear, But softest tend'rest thoughts alone There fix their everlasting throne.
LONG, long, has fleeting Hope's gay pow'r
Forsook my pillow of repose; And over each slow passing hour
Her shadows, Disappointment throws.
Fond Hope, no more thy rule I own;
Too well I know thou dost beguile; Thy flatt'ring prospects soon are flown,
Thou stabbest with a friendly smile.
For once I bow'd the suppliant knee,
Some favours at thy shrine to gain; And many an eager vow to thee,
Deceiver, I have form'd in vain.
I thought the world was good and fair,
I thought it form’d for love and joy'; But soon I found that grief and care
Each pleasure in the bud destroy.
Then trait'ress hence! nor tempt a heart
That all thy empty aid denies;
But say, what clears the cloud away
That hung till now upon my sight? Why beats my pulse with quicker play?
Why glows my bosom with delight?
I know what makes these clouds retire,
Why with new warmth my bosom burns; Joy lights again his genial fire,
For Delia smiles, and Hope returns.
O Hope, I shun thy paths in vain;
Too strong, too dear thy breathing vow! I feel thee throb in every vein,
With fervour never known till now.
I yield to thee-forgive the verse
That rashly thy dispraises bore;
Sweet Hope! I knew thee not before
Then charm me with thy dulcet voice,
With views of bliss my cares beguile, And paint a thousand opening joys,
That promise in my Delia's smile.