Or should I rather, if I cou'd, Fine words the vulgar ears to tickle! The honest feelings of his heart. AN IMITATION FROM THE SPECTATOR. A MONTH hath roll'd its lazy hours away, Since Delia's presence bless'd her longing swain: How cou'd he brook the sluggish time's delay, What charm cou'd soften such an age of pain? One fond reflection still his bosom chear'd, And sooth'd the torments of a lover's care, 'Twas that for Delia's self the bow'r he rear'd, And Fancy plac'd the nymph already there. come, dear maid, and with a gentle smile, Such as lights up my lovely fair one's face, Survey the product of thy shepherd's toil, Nor rob the villa of the villa's grace. Whate'er improvements strike thy curious sight, Th' apartments destin'd for my charmer's use, And trust me, love, I could almost believe Oh! I could doat upon the rural scene, The gardens now put forth their blossoms sweet, The lily pale, the purple-blushing rose, In this fair spot their mingled beauties join; The woodbine here its curling tendrils throws In wreaths fantastic round the mantling vine. The branching arbour here for lovers made, "Tis all another paradise around, And, trust me, so it would appear to me, Like the first man were I not lonely found, And but half blest, my Delia, wanting thee. For two, but two, I've form'd a lovely walk, And I have call'd it by my fair one's name; Here blest with thee, t'enjoy thy pleasing talk, While fools and madmen bow the knee to fame. The rustic path already have I try'd, Oft at the sinking of the setting day; And while, my love, I thought thee by my side, With careful steps have worn its edge away. With thee I've held discourse, how passing sweet! While fancy brought thee to my raptur'd dream, With thee have prattled in my lone retreat, And talk'd down suns, on love's delicious theme.. Oft as I wander through the rustic crowd, Musing with downcast look, and folded arms, They stare with wonder, when I rave aloud, And dwell with rapture on thy artless charms. They call me mad, and oft with finger rude Among the fruits that grace this little seat, And all around their clust'ring foliage spread, Here mayst thou cull the peach, or nect'rine sweet, And pluck the strawberry from its native bed. And all along the river's verdant side, I've planted elms, which rise in even row; And fling their lofty branches far and wide, Which float reflected in the lake below. Since I've been absent from my lovely fair, For O! my Delia, thou art all my care, |