What good soe'er the gods dispense,
The enjoyment of its influence

Still on her love depends;
Her love the shield that guards his heart,
Or wards the blow, or blunts the dart

That peevish Fortune sends.
Thus, Delia, while thy love endures,
The flame my happy breast secures

From Fortune's fickle power;
Change as she list, she may increase,
But not abate my happiness,

Confirm’d by thee before.
Thus while I share her smiles with thee,
Welcome, my love, shall ever be

The favours she bestows;
Yet not on those I found my bliss,
But in the noble ecstasies

The faithful bosom knows.
And when she prunes her wings for flight,
And flutters nimbly from my sight,

Contented I resign
Whate'er she gave; thy love alone
I can securely call my own,

Happy while that is mine.

Berkhamstead. Bid adieu, my sad heart, bid adieu to thy peace ! Thy pleasure is past, and thy sorrows increase; See the shadows of evening how far they extend, And a long night is coming, that never may end; For the sun is now set that enliven'd the scene, And an age must be past ere it rises again. Already deprived of its splendour and heat, I feel thee more slowly, more heavily beat : Perhaps overstrain’d with the quick pulse of pleasure, Thou art glad of this respite to beat at thy leisure ; But the sigh of distress shall now weary thee more Than the flutter and tumult of passion before.

The heart of a lover is never at rest,
With joy overwhelm’d, or with sorrow oppress'd :
When Delia is near, all is ecstasy then,
And I even forget I must lose her again :
When absent, as wretched as happy before,
Despairing I cry, I shall see her no more!

At Berkhamstead.

WRITTEN AFTER LEAVING HER AT NEW BURNS.

How quick the change from joy to woe!
How chequer'd is our lot below!
Seldom we view the prospect fair,
Dark clouds of sorrow, pain, and care,
(Some pleasing intervals between,)
Scowl over more than half the scene.
Last week with Delia, gentle maid,
Far hence in happier fields I stray'd,
While on her dear enchanting tongue
Soft sounds of grateful welcome hung,
For absence had withheld it long.
“Welcome, my long-lost love,” she said,
“E’er since our adverse fates decreed
That we must part, and I must mourn
Till once more bless’d by thy return,
Love, on whose influence I relied
For all the transports I enjoy’d,
Has play'd the cruel tyrant's part
And turn’d tormentor to my heart.
But let me hold thee to my breast,
Dear partner of my joy and rest,
And not a pain, and not a fear,
Or anxious doubt, shall enter there."
Happy, thought I, the favour'd youth,
Bless'd with such undissembled truth!
Five suns successive rose and set,
And saw no monarch in his state,
Wrapp'd in the blaze of majesty,
So free from every care as I.-

Next day the scene was overcast;
Such day till then I never pass’d, —
For on that day, relentless fate!
Delia and I must separate.
Yet ere we look'd our last farewell,
From her dear lips this comfort fell :-
“ Fear not that time, where'er we rove,
Or absence, shall abate my love.”
And can I doubt, my charming maid,
As unsincere what you have said ?
Banish'd from thee to what I hate,
Dull neighbours and insipid chat,
No joy to cheer me, none in view,
But the dear hope of meeting you ;
And that, through passion's optic seen,
With ages interposed between ;-
Bless'd

with the kind support you give,
’T is by your promised truth I live;
How deep my woes, how fierce my flame,
You best may tell, who feel the same.

ON HER ENDEAVOURING TO CONCEAL

HER GRIEF AT PARTING.

Ah! wherefore should my weeping maid suppress

Those gentle signs of undissembled woe ? When from soft love proceeds the deep distress,

Ah! why forbid the willing tears to flow? Since for my sake each dear translucent drop

Breaks forth, best witness of thy truth sincere, My lips should drink the precious mixture up,

And, ere it falls, receive the trembling tear. Trust me, these symptoms of thy faithful heart,

In absence shall my dearest hope sustain, Delia ! since such thy sorrow that we part,

Such when we meet thy joy shall be again. Hard is that heart, and unsubdued by love,

That feels no pain, nor ever heaves a sigh;

Such hearts the fiercest passions only prove,

Or freeze in cold insensibility.
Oh! then indulge thy grief, nor fear to tell

The gentle source from whence thy sorrows flow; Nor think it weakness when we love to feel,

Nor think it weakness what we feel to show.

Hope, like the short-lived ray that gleams awhile

Through wintry skies, upon the frozen waste, Cheers e'en the face of misery to a smile;

But soon the momentary pleasure 's past. How oft, my Delia, since our last farewell,

(Years that have roll’d since that distressful hour,) Grieved I have said, when most our hopes prevail,

Our promised happiness is least secure.
Oft I have thought the scene of troubles closed,

And hoped once more to gaze upon your charms; As oft some dire mischance has interposed,

And snatch'd the expected blessing from my arms. The seaman thus, his shatter'd vessel lost,

Still vainly strives to shun the threatening death; And while he thinks to gain the friendly coast,

And drops his feet, and feels the sands beneath, Borne by the wave steep-sloping from the shore,

Back to the inclement deep; again he beats The surge aside, and seems to tread secure;

And now the refluent wave his baffled toil defeats. Had you, my love, forbade me to pursue

My fond attempt, disdainfully retired,
And with proud scorn compell’d me to subdue

The ill-fated passion by yourself inspired ;
Then haply to some distant spot removed,

Hopeless to gain, unwilling to molest With fond entreaties whom I dearly loved,

Despair or absence had redeem'd my rest. But now, sole partner in my Delia's heart,

Yet doom'd far off in exile to complain,

Eternal absence cannot ease my smart,

And hope subsists but to prolong my pain.
Oh then, kind Heaven, be this my latest breath!

Here end my life, or make it worth my care; Absence from whom we love is worse than death,

And frustrate hope severer than despair.

R. S. S. ALL-WORSHIPP'd Gold! thou mighty mystery! Say by what name shall I address thee rather, Our blessing, or our bane? Without thy aid, The generous pangs of pity but distress The human heart, that fain would feel the bliss Of blessing others; and, enslaved by thee, Far from relieving woes which others feel, Misers oppress themselves. Our blessing then With virtue when possess'd; without, our bane. If in my bosom unperceived there lurk The deep-sown seeds of avarice or ambition, Blame me, ye great ones, (for I scorn your censure,) But let the generous and the good commend me; That to my Delia I direct them all, The worthiest object of a virtuous love. Oh! to some distant scene, a willing exile From the wild uproar of this busy world, Were it my fate with Delia to retire ; With her to wander through the sylvan shade, Each morn, or o'er the moss-imbrowned turf, Where, bless'd as the prime parents of mankind In their own Eden, we would envy none; But, greatly pitying whom the world calls happy, Gently spin out the silken thread of life; While from her lips attentive I receive The tenderest dictates of the purest flame, And from her eyes (where soft complacence sits Illumined with the radiant beams of sense) Tranquillity beyond a monarch's reach. Forgive me, Heaven, this only avarice