The Perplexity.

Became absorb'd in this unwelcome theme; Nay every meditation, every dream, Th'inexplicable sentence held to view, 'They're not both mine,' was every morning new: For, till this hour, the Maid had never prov'd How far she was enthrall'd, how much she lov'd: In that fond character he first appear'd; His kindness charm'd her, and his smiles endear'd: This dubious mystery the passion crost; Her peace was wounded, and her Lover lost. For George, with all his resolution strove To check the progress of his growing love; Or, if he e'er indulg'd a tender kiss, Th'unravell'd secret robb'd him of his bliss. Health's foe, Suspense, so irksome to be borne, An ever-piercing and retreating thorn, Hung on their Hearts, when Nature bade them rise, And stole Content's bright ensign from their eyes.