Yes, she is fled ! for ever fled !
(Ye throbs of madness spare my brain)
Nor shoot thro’ this confused head
The burning messengers of pain !
Yes, she is fled ! Oh word of woe–
Oh word that dooms my soul to die !
Quickens the sharp and deadly throe,
And wakes the wild and fruitless sigh.
How she would gaze and sweetly smile !
And fondly vow to leave me never !
flow she would spread each cunning wile
To make my heart her own for ever !
” Oh !” she would cry, “let others wish
For glitt’ring sceptres and a throne ;
Such gaudy wishes I dismiss
To reign in thy dear heart alone.
Let others to the circle fly,
And flaunt it in the midnight glare ;
My world of light’s that lucid eye,
I read my proudest triumph there.”
And could such softness veil deceit ?
And could she wrong so true a lover ?
And could the smile that beam’d so sweet,
Be but a false and faithless rover ?
Where wilt thou meet so fond a breast ;
Where rule with such despotic pow’r ;
Who now will lull thy cares to rest,
And gently watch thy slumb’ring hour ?
God ! how I lov’d thy mad’ning form,
And drank thy gay seducing talk ;
How did I brave misfortune’s storm,
With thee , thou Wretch ! thro’ life to walk !
Enough ! Oh Mem’ry spare the rest !
Tell me no more of joys how fleeting ;
Oh ! let this void delirious breast
For ever, ever cease its beating.
(Laura Sophia Temple)
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