blazed too high,
My greeting changed, with short speech and cold eye
My sorrow moved you or my terror shook.
That these the arts I used, the way I took,
Smiles varying scorn as sunshine follows rain,
You know, and well have sung in many a deathless strain
Again and oft, as saw I sunk in grief
Those tearful eyes, I said, 'Without relief,
Surely and swift he marches to his grave,'
And, at the thought, the fitting help I gave.'
But if I saw you wild and passion spurr'd,
Prompt with the curb, your boldness I deterr'd;
Thus cold and kind, pale, blushing, gloomy, gay,
Safe have I led you through the dangerous way,
And, as my labour, great my joy at last."
Trembling, I answer'd, and my tears flow'd fast,
"Lady, could I the blessed thought believe,
My faithful love would full reward receive."
"O man of little faith!"--her fairest cheek,
E'en as she spoke, a warm blush 'gan to streak--
"Why should I say it, were it less than true?
If you on earth were pleasant in my view
I need not ask; enough it pleased to see
The best love of that true heart fix'd on me;
Well too your genius pleased me, and the fame
Which, far and wide, it shower'd upon my name;
Your Love had blame in its excess alone,
And wanted prudence; while you sought to tell,
By act and air, what long I knew and well,
To the whole world your secret heart was shown;
Thence was the coldness which your hopes distress'd,
For such our sympathy in all the rest,
As is alone where Love keeps honour's law.
Since in your bosom first its birth I saw,
One fire our heart has equally inflamed,
Except that I conceal'd it, you proclaim'd;
And louder as your cry for mercy swell'd,
Terror and shame my silence more compell'd,
That men my great desire should little think;
But ah! concealment makes not sorrow less,
Complaint embitters not the mind's distress,
Feeling with fiction cannot swell and shrink,
But surely then at least the veil was raised,
You only present when your verse I praised,
And whispering sang, 'Love dares not more to say.'
Yours was my heart, though turn'd my eyes away;
Grieve you, as cruel, that their grace was such,
As kept the little, gave the good and much;
Yet oft and openly as they withdrew,
Far oftener furtively they dwelt on you,
For pity thus, what prud