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1.
In thee, I fondly hop'd to clasp A friend, whom death alone could sever; Till envy, with malignant grasp, [i]
Detach'd thee from my breast for ever.
2.
True, she has forc'd thee from my _breast_, Yet, in my _heart_, thou keep'st thy seat; [ii]
There, there, thine image still must rest, Until that heart shall cease to beat.
3.
And, when the grave restores her dead, When life again to dust is given, On _thy dear_ breast I'll lay my head-- Without _thee! where_ would be _my Heaven?_
February, 1803.
[Footnote 1: George John, 5th Earl Delawarr (1791-1869). (See _note_ 2, p. 100; see also lines "To George, Earl Delawarr," pp. 126-128.)]
[Footnote i:
_But envy with malignant grasp, Has torn thee from my breast for ever.
[4to]]
[Footnote ii: _But in my heart_. [4to]]
TO CAROLINE. [i]
1.
Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes, Suffus'd in tears, implore to stay; And heard _unmov'd_ thy plenteous sighs, Which said far more than words can say? [ii]
2.
Though keen the grief _thy_ tears exprest, [iii]
When love and hope lay _both_ o'erthrown; Yet still, my girl, _this_ bleeding breast Throbb'd, with deep sorrow, as _thine own_.
3.
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_.
4.
Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek, _Thy_ gus.h.i.+ng tears had quench'd its flame, And, as thy tongue essay'd to speak, In _sighs alone_ it breath'd my name.
5.
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.
6.
Again, thou best belov'd, adieu!
Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret, Nor let thy mind past joys review, Our only _hope_ is, to _forget_!
1805.
[Footnote i: _To_----. [4to]]
[Footnote ii: _than words could say_. [4to]]
[Footnote iii: _Though deep the grief_. [4to]]
TO CAROLINE. [1]
1.
You say you love, and yet your eye No symptom of that love conveys, You say you love, yet know not why, Your cheek no sign of love betrays.
2.
Ah! did that breast with ardour glow, With me alone it joy could know, Or feel with me the listless woe, Which racks my heart when far from thee.
