Evander to Emillia

Thou say’st my love is reasonless, to spare No glance, no smile, that ceremonies crave, To Being masculine, ere yet he bear, White on his brow, the blossoms of the grave.

I own the charge;—for ah! do I not know The power of each bright glance, each lovely smile? That dangerous transport, or that cureless woe, Seizes the heart, their melting sweets beguile?

Thy early looks, thy early smiles on me Shone unimpassion’d; no enamour’d ray Shot thro’ my fever’d senses, to decree Death, or possession, to the future day.

Yet so essential to my peace they grew, All was delightless where they failed to flow, Tho’ too serenely shining on my view To bid one thought with rising passion glow.

Not then arisen the dazzling, magic light, Which now for me the Summer’s sun adorns With lustre, ah! so exquisitely bright, That all the rays, gilding his splendid morns,

Robb’d of its effluence, seem to my sick soul, Dim as the April dawn, with clouds begirt, Clouds, that but catch, as thro’ the skies they roll, One wat’ry gleam, to edge their dusky skirt.

“Unreasonable!”—alas! thou know’st not how, How much unreasonable!—for O! ’tis more Than yet rapacious passion durst avow, Than love delirious ever knew before!—

Then, if thou would’st the balm of life should steal Soft o’er my lids, when night’s dun sceptre sways; That health’s warm beams disease’s mists repel Through my or few, or many coming days,

Guard, towards all others, guard thy lips, thine eyes, Cold be to them the hopes thy graces bring! Thy glance,—the sun in winter’s icy skies, Thy smile,—the first pale ray of tardy Spring! (j.)