TO CAROLINE

THINK'ST thou I saw thy beauteous eyes,
Suffused in tears, implore to stay;
And heard unmoved thy plenteous sighs,
Which said far more than words can say ?

Though keen the grief thy tears exprest,
When love and hope lay both o'erthrown;
Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast
Throbb'd with deep sorrow as thine own.
But when our cheeks with anguish glow'd,
When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine,
The tears that from my eyelids flow'd
Were lost in those which fell from thine.

Thou couldst not feel my burning cheek,
Thy gushing tears had quench'd its flame;
And as thy tongue essay'd to speak,
In sighs alone it breathed my name.

And yet, my girl, we weep in vain,
In vain our fate in sighs deplore;
Remembrance only can remain,
But that will make us weep the more.

Again, thou best beloved, adieu !
Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret;
Nor let thy mind past joys review,
Our only hope is to forget!
1805.

Ah! what are words to love like mine,
Though utter'd by a voice like thine,
I still in murmurs must repine,

And think that love can ne'er be true,

Which meets me with no joyous sign,
Without a sigh which bids adieu; -
How different is my love from thine,
How keen my grief when leaving you.

Your image fills my anxious breast,
Till day declines adown the West;
And when at night I sink to rest,
In dreams your fancied form I view.

Tis then your breast, no longer cold,
With equal ardour seems to burn,
While close your arms around me fold,
Your lips my kiss with warmth return.

30

Ah! would these joyous moments last;
Vain HOPE! the gay delusion 's past,
That voice! - ah, no, 't is but the blast
Which echoes through the neighbouring
grove.

But when awake, your lips I seek,
And clasp enraptured all your charms,
So chill's the pressure of your cheek,
I fold a statue in my arms.

If thus, when to my heart embraced,
No pleasure in your eyes is traced,
You may be prudent, fair, and chaste,
But ah! my girl, you do not love.

TO CAROLINE

40

WHEN I hear you express an affection so

warm,

Ne'er think, my beloved, that I do not believe;

For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm,

And quaff the contents as our nectar below.

1805.

And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive.

TO CAROLINE

cal themes,

Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can

Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul,
Pomposus holds you in his harsh control;
Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd,
With florid jargon, and with vain parade;
With noisy nonsense, and new-fangled rules
Such as were ne'er before enforced in
schools.

Mistaking pedantry for learning's laws,
He governs, sanction'd but by self-applause.
With him the same dire fate attending
Rome,
Ill-fated Ida! soon must stamp your doom:
Like her o'erthrown, for ever lost to fame,
No trace of science left you, but the

Yet, Dorset, let not this seduce thy soul
To shun fair science, or evade control,
Though passive tutors, fearful to dispraise
The titled child whose future breath may
raise,

View ducal errors with indulgent eyes,
And wink at faults they tremble to chastise.
When youthful parasites, who bend the
knee

To wealth, their golden idol, not to thee, And even in simple boyhood's opening

dawn

Some slaves are found to flatter and to fawn,

20

When these declare, 'that pomp alone should wait

On one by birth predestined to be great; That books were only meant for drudging fools,

That gallant spirits scorn the common rules;'

Believe them not; - they point the path to shame,

And seek to blast the honours of thy name. Turn to the few in Ida's early throng, Whose souls disdain not to condemn the wrong;

Or if, amidst the comrades of thy youth, None dare to raise the sterner voice of truth,

30

Ask thine own heart; 't will bid thee, boy, forbear; For well I know that virtue lingers there. Yes! I have mark'd thee many a passing day,

But now new scenes invite me far away; Yes! I have mark'd within that generous mind

A soul, if well matured, to bless mankind.

Exalted more among the good and wise, 60
A glorious and a long career pursue,
As first in rank, the first in talent too:
Spurn every vice, each little meanness shun;
Not Fortune's minion, but her noblest son.
Turn to the annals of a former day;
Bright are the deeds thine earlier sires
display.

One, though a courtier, lived a man of worth,

And call'd, proud boast! the British drama forth.

Another view, not less renown'd for wit; 69 Alike for courts, and camps, or senates fit; Bold in the field, and favour'd by the Nine; In every splendid part ordain'd to shine; Far, far distinguish'd from the glittering throng,

The pride of princes, and the boast of song.

89

Receding slowly through the dark-blue deep, Beheld by eyes that mourn yet cannot weep. Dorset, farewell! I will not ask one part Of sad remembrance in so young a heart; The coming morrow from thy youthful mind

Will sweep my name, nor leave a trace behind.

And yet, perhaps, in some maturer year, Since chance has thrown us in the self-same sphere,

Since the same senate, nay, the same debate, May one day claim our suffrage for the state,

We hence may meet, and pass each other by,
With faint regard, or cold and distant eye.
For me, in future, neither friend nor foe, 10Ι
A stranger to thyself, thy weal or woe,
With thee no more again I hope to trace
The recollection of our early race;
No more, as once, in social hours rejoice,
Or hear, unless in crowds, thy well-known
voice.

Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught
To veil those feelings which perchance it
ought,

If these, but let me cease the lengthen'd strain, Oh! if these wishes are not breathed in vain,

110

The guardian seraph who directs thy fate Will leave thee glorious, as he found thee great.

1805.