Fugitive Pieces Part 6

Then let us meet, as oft we've done, Beneath the influence of the sun; Or, if at midnight I must meet you, Oh! let me in your chamber greet you; _There_ we can love for hours together, Much better in such snowy weather, Than plac'd in all th' Arcadian groves, That ever witness'd rural loves; _There_ if my pa.s.sion fail to please, Next night I'll be content to freeze; No more I'll give a loose to laughter, But curse my fate, forever after.

TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER.

Sweet girl! though only once we met, That meeting I shall ne'er forget; And though we ne'er may meet again, Remembrance will thy form retain; I would not say, "I love" but still My senses struggle with my will; In vain to drive thee from my breast, My thoughts are more and more represt, In vain, I check the rising sighs, Another to the last replies; Perhaps this is not love, but yet Our meeting I can ne'er forget.

What though we never silence broke, Our eyes a sweeter language spoke; The tongue in flattering falsehood deals, And tells a tale, it never feels; Deceit, the guilty lips impart, And hush the mandates of the heart, But soul's interpreters, the eyes Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise.

As thus our glances oft convers'd, And all our bosoms felt, rehears'd, No _spirit_ from within reprov'd us, Say rather, "'twas the _spirit mov'd us_."

Though what they utter'd, I repress, Yet, I conceive, thou'lt partly guess; For, as on thee, my memory ponders, Perchance, to me thine also wanders; This for myself, at least I'll say, Thy form appears through night, through day, Awake, with it my fancy teems, In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams; The vision charms the hours away, And bids me curse Aurora's ray; For breaking slumbers of delight, Which make me wish for endless night.

Since, oh! whate'er my future fate, Shall joy or woe my steps await; Tempted by love, by storms beset, Thine image, I can ne'er forget.

Alas! again no more we meet, No more our former looks repeat; Then let me breathe this parting prayer, The dictate of my bosom's care: "May Heaven so guard my lovely quaker, "That anguish never can o'ertake her; "That peace and virtue ne'er forsake her, "But bliss be aye, her heart's partaker: "No jealous pa.s.sion shall invade, "No envy that pure breast pervade;"

For he that revels in such charms, Can never seek another's arms; "Oh! may the happy mortal fated, "To be by dearest ties related; "For _her_ each hour _new joy_ discover, "And lose the husband in the lover.

"May that fair bosom never know "What 'tis to feel the restless woe; "Which stings the soul, with vain regret, "Of him, who never can forget."

TO JULIA!

Julia! since far from you I've rang'd, Our souls with fond affection glow not; You say 'tis I, _not you_ have chang'd, I'd tell you why,--but yet I know not.

2.

Your polish'd brow, no cares have crost, And Julia! we are not much older, Since trembling first my heart I lost, Or told my love with hope, grown bolder.

3.

Sixteen was then our utmost age, Two years have lingering pa.s.s'd away, love!

And now new thoughts our minds engage, At least, _I_ feel disposed to stray, love!

4.

'Tis _I_, that am alone to blame, _I_, that am guilty of love's treason; Since your sweet breast, is still the same, Caprice must be my only reason.

5.

I do not, love, suspect your truth, With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not, Warm was the pa.s.sion of my youth, One trace of dark deceit it leaves not.

6.

No, no, my flame was not pretended, For oh! I lov'd you most sincerely, And though our dream at last is ended, My bosom still esteems you dearly.

7.

No more we meet in yonder bowers, Perhaps my soul's too p.r.o.ne to roving, But older, firmer _hearts_ than ours, Have found monotony in loving.

8.

Your cheeks soft bloom is unimpair'd, Your beauties still are daily bright'ning, Your eye for conquest comes prepar'd, The forge of love's resistless lightning.

9.

Arm'd thus to make their bosoms bleed, Many will throng to sigh like me, love, More constant they may prove indeed, Fonder alas! they ne'er can be, love!

TO WOMAN.

Surely experience might have told me, That all must love thee, who behold thee; Surely experience might have taught, A woman's promises are naught, But plac'd in all thy charms before me, All I forget, but to _adore_ thee.

Oh memory! thou choicest blessing, When join'd with hope, when still possessing; Thou whisperest, as our hearts are beating, "What oft we've done, we're still repeating."

But how much curst by every lover, When hope is fled, and pa.s.sion's over.

Woman that fair and fond deceiver, How prompt are striplings to believe her, How throbs the pulse, when first we view, The eye that rolls in glossy blue; Or sparkles black, or mildly throws, A beam from under hazel brows; How quick we credit every oath, And hear her plight the willing troth; Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye, When lo! she changes in a day, The Record will forever stand, "That woman's vows, are writ in sand."

AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE DELIVERED BY THE AUTHOR, PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORMANCE OF THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE, AT A PRIVATE THEATRE.

Since the refinement of this polish'd age, Has swept immoral raillery from the stage; Since taste has now expung'd licentious wit, Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ; Since now to please with purer scenes we seek, Nor dare to call the blush from beauty's cheek; Oh! let the modest muse some pity claim, And meet indulgence--though she find not fame.

But not for _her_ alone, we wish respect, _Others_ appear more conscious of defect; To night, no _Veteran Roscii_ you behold, In all the arts of scenic action old; No COOKE, no KEMBLE, can salute you here, No SIDDONS draw the sympathetic tear, To night, you thong to witness the debut, Of embryo actors to the drama new; Here then, our almost unfledg'd wings we try, Clip not our _pinions_, ere the _birds can fly_; Failing in this our first attempt to soar, Drooping, alas, we fall to rise no more.

Not one poor trembler only, fear betrays, Who hopes, yet almost dreads to meet your praise; But all our Dramatis Personae wait, In fond suspense, this crisis of their fate; No venal views our progress can r.e.t.a.r.d, Your generous plaudits are our sole reward; For them each _Hero_ all his power displays, Each timid _Heroine_ shrinks before your gaze: Surely these last will some protection find, None to the softer s.e.x can prove unkind; Whilst youth and beauty form the female s.h.i.+eld, The sternest critic to the fair must yield.

But should our feeble efforts nought avail, Should, _after all_, our best endeavours fail; Still let some mercy in your bosoms live, And if you can't applaud, at least _forgive_.

TO MISS E.P.

1.

Eliza! what fools are the Mussulman sect, Who to woman deny the soul's future existence, Could they see thee, Eliza! they'd own their defect, And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance.

2.

Had their Prophet possess'd but an atom of sense, He ne'er would have _woman_ from Paradise driven, But instead of his _Houris_ a flimsy pretence, With _woman alone_, he had peopled his Heaven.

3.

But still to increase your calamities more, Not content with depriving your bodies of spirit, He allots but _one husband_ to share amongst four, With _souls_ you'd dispense--but this last who could bear it.