Poem by Charlotte Dacre

Addressed to the Author in the Morning Herald

By an unknown Hand. 
IN ANSWER TO HER LINES INTITLED 'THE PHILOSOPHER.'


'TIS not indiff'rent, I would have you prove;
    Ah! if you love, cherish the sacred fire,
For I'm no traitor, nor would seek to move
    In others, what my breast could not inspire.

If all my features soft emotion wear,
    They truly speak--I feel them in my soul;
Must I love less--if aught--tho' not a fear
    Fetters those feelings, dictates a controul?

The name of friendship I confess is sweet,
    With that you grant me I would never part;
Friendship is thine--with rapture I would meet
    The warmest, wildest throbbings of thy heart.

Friendship is sweet; but love, oh! sweeter still!
    The union gives a source of real joy;
Grant then thy love, and know it is my will
    To give thee happiness without alloy.

1. Julia's Murder; or, The Song of Woe
2. Thaw
3. Ruin'd Innocence
4. The Sovereignty of Love
5. The Musing Maniac

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