WHENE'ER to gentle Emma's praise
I tune my soft enamour'd lays,
When on the face so dear I prize,
I fondly gaze with love-sick eyes;
'Say, Damon,' cries the smiling fair,
With modest and ingenuous air,
"Tell of this homely frame, the part
To which I owe your vanquish'd heart.'
In vain, my Emma, would I tell
By what thy captive Damon fell;
The swain who partial charms can see
May own-but never lov'd like me!
Won by thy form and fairer mind,
So much my wishes are confin'd,
With lover's eyes so much I see,
Thy very faults are charms to me.
ON FINDING HIS ADDRESSES NOT FAVOURED BY
HER FRIENDS, ON ACCOUNT OF HIS WANT OF FORTUNE.
FORBEAR, in pity, ah! forbear
To soothe my ravish'd ear;
Nor longer thus a love declare,
"Tis death for me to hear.
Too much, alas! my tender heart
Does to thy suit incline;
Why then attempt to gain by art,
What is already thine?
O! let not, like the Grecian dame',
My hapless fortune prove,
Who languish'd in too fierce a flame,
And died by too much love.
BEING IN COMPANY WITH EMMA, AND HAVING NO OPPORTUNITY OF EXPRESSING CERTAIN DOUBTS HE HAD CONCEIVED OF HER SINCERITY, CONVEYS TO HER THE FOLLOWING LINES, AS A DEVICE TO KNOW THE SENTIMENTS OF HER HEART.
ARE all my flattering hopes at once betray'd,
And cold and faithless grown my nut-brown maid?
Have I so long indulg'd the pleasing smart,
And worn thy grateful image next my heart?
And must I thus at once all hopes resign,
When, fix'd as fate, I fondly thought thee mine?
Then go, irresolute,—and dare to prove,
To please proud friends, a rebel to thy love.
Perhaps, too long accustom'd to obtain,
My flattering views were ever false and vain!
Perhaps my Emma's lips, well skill'd in art,
Late breath'd a language foreign to her heart
Perhaps the Muse profanely does thee wrong,
Weak my suspicions and unjust my song '!
Whichever is the cause, the truth proclaim,
And to that sentence here affix thy name;
So shall we both be rescued from the fear
Which thou must have to tell, and I to hear;
1 After perusing the paper. Emma (as the reader may conjecture from the sequel) returned it to the Author, after having written her name with a pencil at the close of the following line: Weak my suspicions and unjust my song,'
If thou art false the Muse shall vengeance take,
And blast the faithless sex for Emma's sake:
If true-my wounds thy gentle voice shall heal,
And own me punish'd by the pangs I feel.
But O! without disguise pronounce my fate,
Bless me with love, or curse me with thy hate!
Hearts soft as mine indifference cannot bear ;
Perfect my hopes, or plunge me in despair.
DOUBTING THE AUTHOR'S SINCERITY.
WHEN misers cease to doat on gold,
When justice is no longer sold,
When female tongues their clack shall hush,
When modesty shall cease to blush,
When parents shall no more control
The fond affections of the soul,
Nor force the sad reluctant fair
Her idol from her heart to tear;
For sordid interest to engage,
And languish in the arms of age;
Then in this heart shall falsehood reign,
And pay thy kindness with disdain.
When friends severe as thine shall prove
Propitious to ingenuous love,
Bid thee in merit place affiance,
And think they're honour'd by the' alliance:
And oh! when hearts as proud as mine
Shall basely kneel at Plutus' shrine,
Forego my modest plea to fame,
Or own dull power's superior claim;
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