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The youth for whom thy bosom sighs a
Thou in existence still canst find
DRIED be that tear, my gentlest love,
Husht be that sigh, be dry that tear,
Dost ask how long my vows shall stay
When all that's new is past?
How long my life will last?
And does that thought affect thee too,
Must yield that faithful breath?
R. B. SHERIDAN.
АH! tell me not that jealous fear
Betrays a weak suspicious mind ;
But while, by giddy fancy led,
In search of joy you wildly rove,
Yet soon my anxious fears shall cease;
For oh! that day will break my heart.
Ir in that breast, so good, so pure,
The cause I must not, dare not tell.
The grief that on my quiet preys,
That rends my heart, that checks my tongue,
I fear will last me all my days,
But feel it will not last me long.
*From the French.
SIR J. MOORE.
Too plain, dear youth, these tell-tale eyes
My heart your own declare;
But for heaven's sake let it suffice
You reign triumphant there!
Forbear your utmost power to try,
Nor further urge your sway; Press not for what I must deny, For fear I should obey.
Could all your arts successful prove,
Whose greatest failing is her love,
Say, would you use that very power
To ruin in one fatal hour
A life of spotless fame?
Resolve not then to do an ill
Because perhaps you may,
Be you yourself my virtue's guard,
my sighs you may discover What soft wishes touch my heart; Eyes can speak, and tell the lover What the tongue must not impart.
STREPHON, when you see me fly
Out of love as out of hate :
Blushing shame forbids revealing
Did I out of hatred run,
Less you'd be my pain and care; But the youth I love, to shun,
Who can such a trial bear? Who that such a swain did see, Who could love and fly like me ?