When tir'd, at length, my wrongs no more complain,
And sighs are stifled in obtuser pain;
When the deep fountains of my eyes are spent,
And fiercer anguish sinks to discontent;
Slow I return, and prostrate on my bed
Bid the soft pillow lull my heavy head.
But O! when downy sleep its court renews,
And shades the soul with visionary views,
Illusive dreams to fan my slumbering fire,
And wake the fever of intense desire,
Present your softer image to my sight,
All warm with smiles, and glowing with delight;
Gods! with what bliss I view thy darling charms,
And strive to clasp thee melting in my arms! —
But ah! the shade my empty grasp deceives;
And as it flits, and my fond soul bereaves,
The transient slumbers slip their airy chain,
And give me back to all my woes again:
There wrapt in floods of grief I sigh forlorn,
The constant greetings of unwelcome morn.
But should oblivion reassume her sway,
And slumbers once more steal my woes away;
When the short flights of fancy intervene,
Your much-lov'd image fills out every scene.
But now no more soft smiles your face adorn,
Lo! o'er each feature broods destructive scorn.
Suppliant in tears I urge my suit again,
Sullen you stand, and view me with disdain;
Your ears exclude the story of my smart,
Your baleful eyes dart anguish to my heart.
I wake — glad nature hails returning day,
And the wild songsters chaunt their mattin-lay;
The sun in glory mounts the crystal sky,
And all creation is in smiles but I.
Then, sink in death, my senses! — for in vain
You strive to quench the phrenzy of your pain;
Break, break, fond heart! — her hate thou can'st not tame,
Then take this certain triumph o'er thy flame.
'Tis done! — the dread of future wrongs is past —
Lo! brittle passion verges to its last!
'Tis done! — vain life's illusive scenes are o'er —
Disdainful beauty shakes her chains no more.
Come, peaceful gloom, expand thy downy breast,
And soothe, O soothe me to eternal rest!
There hush my plaints, and gently lull my woes,
Where one still stream of dull oblivion flows.
No labouring breast there heaves with torture's throws,
No heart consumes her daily hoard of woes;
No dreams of former pain the soul invade,
Calmly she sleeps, a sad unthinking shade!