[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]
MY days have been so wond’rous free,
The little birds that fly,
With careless ease, from tree to tree,
Were but as blest as I.
–
Ask gliding waters, if a tear
Of mine increas’d their stream;
Or ask the flying gales, if e’er
I lent a sigh to them.
–
But now my former days retire,
And I’m by beauty caught:
The tender chains of sweet desire
Are fixt upon my thought.
–
An eager hope within my breast
Does every doubt controul;
And lovely Nancy stands confest
The favourite of my soul.
–
Ye nightingales, ye twisting pines,
Ye swains that haunt the grove,
Ye gentle ecchoes, breezy winds,
Ye close retreats of love;
–
With all of nature, all of art,
Assist the dear design,
O teach a young unpractis’d heart,
To make her ever mine.
–
The very thought of change I hate,
As much as of despair,
And hardly cover to be great,
Unless it be for her.
–
‘Tis true, the passion in my mind
Is mixt with soft distress;
Yet while the fair I love is kind,
I cannot wish it less.
