Noon. the Third Elegy

Now Phoebus vertically shoots his rays With all the fervor of his noontide blaze; Now let me seek some solitary grove, And give a loose to fancy and to love.

In what soft scene is gentle Delia laid? Which is, at noon, my Delia's favourite shade? Oft in fair Richmond's interwoven bowers, Lonely, she loiters out the sultry hours.

Does she to Merlin's awful cave retire, To feast her fancy with poetic fire? Or to the Hermitage, romantic vault! Where learned busts adorn the classic grot?

Oh! let me find the beauteous maid alone, And, at her feet, pour out my artless moan; No longer will I pine, in dumb despair, Perhaps my Delia is as kind as fair.

Let the soft influence of th' enchanting scene, The mazy thickets, walks for ever green, The flowery lawn, the light-excluding grove, Incline her to the melting voice of love.

But hark, there's music!—'tis my Delia's voice, My Delia sings, let all the grove rejoice! Hush every breeze, let not an aspin move, Let all be silent, Delia sings of love.

Sweet maid, let me not interrupt thy song, Let the soft notes still warble on thy tongue; And yet it is too much, at once, to wound Our eyes with beauty, and our ears with sound.

Start not, my Delia, here's no danger near, Thy beauty guards thee—banish every fear; Even Love himself, the tyrant of my heart, Awes with respect, and takes fair Beauty's part.

Long have thy charms depriv'd my soul of rest, Long has th' infection rankled in my breast; To speak my tender sorrow oft I've tried, As oft my tongue the tender task denied.

Oh! hear me, gentle Delia, hear me now. Incline propitious to my love-sick vow: So may thy charms no fading changes prove, But bloom for ever, constant as my love.

Tho' unadorn'd with titles or with power, Tho' Fortune smil'd not on my natal hour, Yet I've a heart that's rich in fond desire, And my soul glows with more than vulgar fire.

But, if 'tis wealth alone thy love can draw, I'll dig for treasure in the mines of Law; Pierce the dull gloom of Coke's pedantic lore, And, from his dross, extract the purest: ore.

Wondering shall Delia hear my praises rung, What flowing periods trickle from my tongue! Inspir'd by thee, and Love's superior aid, Like Coke I'll counsel, and like Tully plead.

Unpleasing thus, I'll drudge away my youth, Far from the paths of science and of truth; Wage endless battles at the noisy bar, To deck thee with the spoils of civil war.

For me—if 'twere not to inrich my fair, I'd wish to shun the bustling noise of care, Far, in the centre of some peaceful grove, Retir'd, to dwell with Delia and with love.

Then should we feast on pure extatic bliss, Exchanging souls at every melting kiss, Wrapt in delight, my Delia then should prove, How poor all grandeur is, compar'd to love,

Ah! do not go—my gentle Delia stay; You'll scorch your beauties in the blaze of day; The sun now rages in his highest noon— And 'tis a pity sure to part so soon.

But if we must—let's take one tender leave. Shall we, my fair, meet here again at eve? Oh there's celestial music in that yes! Thus let me seal the promise of my bliss.