Whene'er we meet my blushes rise, And mantle through my purpled cheek, But yet no blush to mine replies, Nor e'en your eyes your love bespeak. 4. Your voice alone declares your flame, And though so sweet it breaths my name; Our passions still are not the same, Alas! you cannot love like me. 5. For e'en your lip seems steep'd in snow, And though so oft it meets my kiss, It burns with no responsive glow, Nor melts like mine in dewy bliss. 6. Ah! what are words to love like mine, Though uttered by a voice like thine, I still in murmurs must repine, And think that love can ne'er be true. 7. Which meets me with no joyous sign, Without a sigh which bids adieu; How different is my love from thine, How keen my grief when leaving you. 8. Your image fills my anxious breast, Till day declines adown the West, And when, at night, I sink to rest, In dreams your fancied form I view. 9. 'Tis then your breast, no longer cold, With equal ardour seems to burn, While close your arms around me fold, Your lips my kiss with warmth return. 10. Ah! would these joyous moments last; Vain HOPE! the gay delusions past, That voice!--ah! no, 'tis but the blast, Which echoes through the neighbouring grove. 11. But when _awake_, your lips I seek, And clasp enraptur'd all your charms, So chill's the pressure of your cheek, I fold a statue in my arms. 12. If thus, when to my heart embrac'd, No pleasure in your eyes is trac'd, You may be prudent, fair, and chaste, But ah! my girl, you _do not love_. * * * * * TO MARIA ---- Since now the hour is come at last, When you must quit your anxious lover, Since now, our dream of bliss is past, One pang, my girl, and all is over. Alas! that pang will be severe, Which bids us part, to meet no more; Which tears me far from _one_ so dear, _Departing_ for a distant shore. Well! we have pass'd some happy hours, And joy will mingle with our tears; When thinking on these ancient towers, The shelter of our infant years. Where from this gothic casement's height, We view'd the lake, the park, the dell, And still though tears obstruct our sight, We lingering look a last farewell.-- O'er fields, through which we us'd to run, And spend the hours in childish play, O'er shades where, when our race was done, Reposing on my breast you lay, Whilst I, admiring, too remiss, Forgot to scare the hovering flies, Yet envied every fly the kiss, It dar'd to give your slumbering eyes. See still the little painted _bark_, In which I row'd you o'er the lake; See there, high waving o'er the park, The _elm_, I clamber'd for your sake. These times are past, our joys are gone, You leave me, leave this happy vale; These scenes, I must retrace alone, Without thee, what will they avail.