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What must they feel whom no false vision, But truest, tenderest passion warm'd? Sincere, but swift in sad transition,
As if a dream alone had charm'd? Ah! sure such grief is fancy's scheming, And all thy change can be but dreaming!
ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE "ORIGIN OF LOVE?"
THE "Origin of Love!"-Ah why
And should'st thou seek his end to know:
But live until I cease to be.
REMEMBER HIM, &c.
REMEMBER him, whom passion's power
When neither fell, though both were loved.
That yielding breast, that melting eye,
Oh! let me feel that all I lost
But saved thee all that conscience fears;
And blush for every pang it cost
To spare the vain remorse of years.
Yet think of this when many a tongue, Whose busy accents whisper blame, Would do the heart that loved thee wrong,
And brand a nearly blighted name.
Think that, whate'er to others, thou
Even now, in midnight solitude.
Oh, God! that we had met in time,
Far may thy days, as heretofore,
From this our gaudy world be past!
This heart, alas! perverted long,
Itself destroy'd might there destroy;
To meet thee in the glittering throng, Would wake Presumption's hope of joy.
Then to the things whose bliss or woe, Like mine, is wild and worthless all, That world resign-such scenes forego, Where those who feel must surely fall.
Thy youth, thy charms, thy tenderness,
From what even here hath past, may guess
Oh! pardon that imploring tear,
Though long and mournful must it be,
Yet I deserve the stern decree,
And almost deem the sentence sweet.
Still, had I loved thee less, my heart
It felt not half so much to part,
As if its guilt had made thee mine.