Laura Sophia Temple

The Blind Lover to His Mistress

Ah! let me hear again that mellow strain,
That dulcet trill, whose soft and lucid sweep
Steals o'er my trembling soul like gale of Eve,
That o'er the world of waters steals its wing,
Wakening the sea-wave. Thus let thy sweet song
Wake the now slumb'ring waves of pausing thought,
And through my secret heart pour the rich tide
Of Mem'ry's flood. Let the fair shades arise
Of buried hours; let ev'ry witching charm
That Fancy weaves, hang on thy quiv'ring note,
And speak of raptures past, and yet to come.
What tho' to me are veil'd the living Morn,
And gay luxuriance of Woodland bloom;
Tho' Spring steps forth to wander o'er the wild,
Yet passes me without one sunny smile;
Tho' moon, nor stars, nor all the beamy train
That gem the blue serene, ere hang their lamps
To bless these rayless orbs--yet am I bless'd
Beyond their power of blessing.--Muse my heart
O'er all thy treasures! Oh with a miser's care
Brood o'er the rich amount! Weep tears of joy
To think thou'rt Monarch o'er a World of Love.
Yes, she is mine! She chose me from the throng,
Me whom the frown of Fate forbade to drink
The rapture-swimming light of beauty's glance,
Forbade to pour the deep and lengthen'd gaze
Of tenderness--forbade to fondly dwell
On ev'ry gentle waving line of grace
That marks that angel-form.--The seraph smile,
The warm, and mantling tinge; the sunny locks
That break in wild profusion o'er the brow
Throwing their soften'd shade--to me are lost.
I only hear thou'rt fair--from others hear
Of all the bright perfections of thy face.
Yet can I inward look, and view thee there
Glowing in all the beamy charms of Mind.
There will I gaze--there dwell in witching trance
On all thy truth, and singleness of heart.
Ah! lead me, dear One! to the craggy steep,
For now the sea-gale hurries o'er its brow
On freshning wing ; and o'er the upland scene
Steals the soft veil of Eve.--Let airs of Heav'n
Bathe my faint form--And thou Beloved
Give to my soul again the light of song.

English Poetry - E-mail