I FEED a flame within, which so torments me,
That it both pains my heart, and yet contents me:
'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it,
That I had rather die, than once remove it.
Yet he for whom I grieve shall never know it,
My tongue does not betray, nor my eye show it :
No sigh, and not a tear, my pain discloses,
For they fall silently like dew on roses.
Thus to prevent my love from being cruel,
My heart's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel :
And while I suffer thus to give him quiet,
My faith rewards my love, though he deny it.
On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me; While I conceal my love, no frown can fright me : To be more happy I dare not aspire;
Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher.
ON LADY MARGARET FORDYCE.
MARK'D you her cheek of roseate hue?
Mark'd you her eye of radiant blue ?-
That eye, in liquid circles moving!
That cheek, abash'd at man's approving!
The one Love's arrows darting round,
The other blushing at the wound.
Did she not speak, did she not move,
Now Pallas,-now the Queen of Love.
Rt. Hon. Richard B. Sheridan.
You ask me, dear Nancy, what makes me presume
That you cherish a secret affection for me?
When we see the flowers bud, don't we look for the bloom!
Then, sweetest! attend while I answer to thee.
When we young men with pastimes the twilight beguile,
I watch your plump cheek till it dimples with joy :
And observe, that whatever occasions the smile,
You give me a glance; but provokingly coy.
Last month, when wild strawberries, plucked in the grove,
Like beads on the tall seeded grass you had strung,
You gave me the choicest; I hoped 'twas for love;
And I told you my hopes while the nightingale sung.
Remember the viper :-'twas close at your feet,
How you started, and threw yourself into my arms:
Not a strawberry there was so ripe nor so sweet
As the lips which I kiss'd, to subdue your alarms.
As I pull'd down the clusters of nuts for my fair,
What a blow I received from a strong-bending bough;
Tho' Lucy and other gay lasses were there,
Not one of them show'd such compassion as you.
And was it compassion? by Heaven 'twas more!
A tell-tale betrays you ;-that blush on your cheek--
There come, dearest maid, all your trifling give o'er,
And whisper what candour will teach you to speak.
Can you stain my fair honour with one broken vow?
Can you say that I've ever occasion'd a pain?
On truth's honest base let your tenderness grow;
I swear to be faithful, again and again.
THERE are some wishes that may start,
Nor cloud the brow, nor sting the heart.
Gladly then would I see how smiled
One who now fondles with her child;
How smiled she but six years ago,
Herself a child, or nearly so.
Yes, let me bring before my sight
The silken tresses chained up tight,
The tiny fingers tipt with red
By tossing up the strawberry-bed;
Half-open lips, long violet eyes,
A little rounder with surprise,
And then (her chin against her knee),
"Mamma! who can that stranger be?
How grave the smile he smiles on me!"
I NE'ER could any lustre see
that would not look on me: I ne'er saw nectar on a lip,
But where my own did hope to sip.
Has the maid who seeks my heart
Cheeks of rose untouch'd by art?
I will own their colour true,
When yielding blushes aid their hue.
Is her hand so soft and pure?
I must press it, to be sure;
Nor can I e'en be certain then,
Till it grateful press again.
Must I with attentive eye,
Watch her heaving bosom sigh?
I will do so-when I see
That heaving bosom sigh for me.
Rt. Hon. Richard B. Sheridan.
TO HIS SON VINCENT CORBET.
WHAT I shall leave thee none can tell,
But all shall say I wish thee well :
I wish thee, Vin, before all wealth,
Both bodily and ghostly health.
Not too much wealth, nor wit come to thee,
So much of either may undo thee.
I wish thee learning, not for show,
Enough for to instruct, and know.
Not such as gentlemen require,
To prate at table or at fire.
I wish thee all thy mother's graces,
Thy father's fortune-and his places.
I wish thee friends, and one at Court,
Not to build on, but support.
To keep thee, not in doing many
Oppressions, but from suffering any.
I wish thee peace in all thy ways,
Nor lazy nor contentious days;
And when thy soul and body part,
As innocent as now thou art.
NE'ER were the Zephyrs known disclosing
More sweets, than when in Tempe's shades
They waved the lilies, where reposing
Sat four-and-twenty lovely maids.
Those lovely maids were called "the Hours,"
The charge of Virtue's flock they kept;
And each in turn employ'd her powers
To guard it while her sisters slept.
False Love, how simple souls thou cheatest!
In myrtle bower that traitor near
Long watch'd an Hour-the softest, sweetest-
The evening Hour, to shepherds dear.
In tones so bland he praised her beauty,
Such melting airs his pipe could play;
The thoughtless Hour forgot her duty,
And fled in Love's embrace away.
Meanwhile the fold was left unguarded;
The wolf broke in, the lambs were slain;
And now from Virtue's train discarded,
With tears her sisters speak their pain.
Time flies, and still they weep; for never
The fugitive can time restore;
An Hour once fled, has fled for ever,
And all the rest shall smile no more!
AH! what avails the sceptred race!
Ah! what the form divine !
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Aylmer, all were thine.
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,
A night of memories and of sighs
I consecrate to thee.
A RING to me Cecilia sends
And what to show ?-that we are friends;
That she with favour reads my lays,
And sends a token of her praise;
Such as the nun, with heart of snow,
Might on her Confessor bestow;
Or which some favourite nymph would pay,
Upon her grandsire's natal day,
And to his trembling hand impart
The offering of a feeling heart.
And what shall I return the fair
And flattering nymph?—a verse ?--a prayer?
For were a Ring my present too,
I see the smile that must ensue ;-
The smile that pleases tho' it stings,
"no more of giving rings:
Remember, thirty years are gone,
Old friend, since you presented one!"
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