TRUANT! you love me not–the reason this,
You told me that you lov’d a maid before;
And tho’, perchance, you many more may kiss,
True love, felt once , can never be felt more .
Then ask not me to credit what you swore,
Nor e’er believe that I can give you bliss;
Go, go to her who taught you how to love–
Repeat to her your vows, and not to me;
For sooth I think, who can inconstant prove
To his first love, will ever faithless be.
In gaining wayward hearts no pride I see,
Nor have I pride in kindling in the breast
That meteor flame, call’d passion–no not I;
The heart I aim at, and of that possess’d,
Make it my castle, and all arts defy,
For that once fill’d–no longer roves the eye.
(Charlotte Dacre)
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