Poem by Laura Sophia Temple

The Hindoo Lover's Address

To the EVENING BREEZE.

Go, wanton Breeze, to Cashmere's wavey groves,
Whose wild, and tangled haunts, my fair one loves;
There gaily kiss each soft voluptuous flow'r,
Then hasten to my Abra's secret bow'r.
But oh! forget not, as thou fly'st along,
To steal the music of each warbler's song;
Then seek the shades where weeping violets spring,
And bear their treasures on thy downy wing.
Nor yet forget the bright and musky rose
Whose modest face with vermeil tincture glows,
Flutt'ring around it tell thy tend'rest tale,
And win it from its mate the Nightingale.
And now thy silken pinions wide expand,
For Abra's mantling bow'r is near at hand.
Oh ! when thou see'st the Maid my wishes seek,
With spicy whispers fan her damask cheek,
Pant in the ringlets of her ebon hair,
And court the laughing loves that frolic there;
Breathe on those crimson lips whose honey'd store
The wretched Amurath must taste no more;
Sport in the liquid heaven of her eye,
And o'er her neck of marble softly sigh;
Then waft, oh ! waft the melody of song,
Let some sad cadence gently steal along,
Bid the lone Night-bird all his griefs relate,
And tell her that he sings of Am'rath's fate;
Tell her like me he mourns a faithless love,
Like me his thoughts to vanish'd pleasures rove,
Like me he shuns the Morn's etherial dies,
Like me to Evening's tender scene he flies.
Go, lovely Messenger, these words repeat
Ere this deserted heart has ceas'd to beat.
"From these deep shades, where slumb'ring silence reigns,
The victim of thy perfidy complains,
Where are thy vows, perfidious, whither fled?
Think not to veil from Heav'n thy guilty head;
Those broken vows are register'd on high,
Swift to the awful throne of God they fly,
There in the inky page of Fate they dwell,
There the dark catalogue of crimes they swell.
And hast thou then forgot that smiling hour
When first this bosom own'd thy beauty's pow'r?
When as I gaz'd, a warm luxuriant glow
Of thy soft cheek would tinge th' inflamed snow?
How seem'd with love to move thy talking eye!
How shiver'd thro' my frame thy smother'd sigh!
Hope fondly whisper'd that thy heart was mine,
And silence seem'd that rapture to refine.
When summer sun-beams danc'd along the vale,
And music trembled in each breathing gale,
Oft would I rove where pines their shadow threw,
Where tawny dates, and spicy citrons grew,
There in the twilight of the curtain'd boughs,
Where verdrous Nature kept a deep repose,
There would burst forth my wild untutor'd lays,
And laughing Echo warbled Abra's praise.
Say, did the Spring one od'rous bud disclose
That Am'rath fail'd to gather for his Rose?
Did not th' anemony's resplendent hue,
Did not the violet with eyes so blue,
Did not the myrtle's sweet and blushing face
With studious care thy flowing tresses grace?
When Winter chas'd the azure from the sky,
And loud rebellious whirlwinds hurried by,
Did not the cosily aloe blaze around,
And velvet carpets paint the chequer'd ground?
Thy tissued caftan shone with vivid dies,
And di'monds strove to emulate thine eyes.
Oh! hours of transport! never to return!
Oh lamp of bliss ! that ne'er again shall burn!
This shipwreck'd heart has heard your parting knell,
Long have I bade your melting charms farewell.
Light of these eyes, art thou for ever gone?
Are all the dimpled smiles of pleasure flown?
Then let the tempest rave, red lightning glare,
Let loose the haggard demons of despair;
Fall, fall ye rains, ye'll cool this scorching breast,
And soothe a panting soul by grief oppress'd.
But hark! I hear the battle's distant roar;
Let me then haste and think of thee no more.
See, Honour calls, her laurel wreath she shakes,
And all my soul from passion's dream awakes.
False one, adieu ! to distant shores I fly,
To snatch a wreath of death--or victory."

1. Sonnet 1. To the Evening Gale
2. The Murderer
3. Lines Written on Reading Young's Night Thoughts--
4. Disappointment
5. To the Genius of Romance

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