Classic Poem

EVANDER TO EMILLIA .

O! WHY this ceaseless, cruel, strange distrust,
To thy own charms, and my vow'd faith unjust?
Ingrate! — with what impatience did I dart
On these expected scriptures of thy heart!
Yet while my lips their seal unbroken press'd,
A latent dread rose sickening in my breast;
Since, ah! too oft, of late, the sullen eye,
The air repulsive, the upbraiding sigh,
Repress'd — no not repress'd my fond desires,
But fed their rising flame with gloomy fires.

And now, as if 'twere not enough of pain,
That long, long tracts of hill, and dale, and plain,
Rise separating, and force our hearts to prove
The sick dejection of divided love;
Doubts that from shadowy causes wildly flow,
Change sick dejection to corrosive woe.

Conscious of all its torture on my soul,
Thou pourest honey in the venom'd bowl
Of causeless jealousy, of needless strife,
Dark suicides on all the joys of life!
But long it is since sweetness unallay'd
Was to my thirsty, glowing lip convey'd
In that diurnal draught, thy hands consign
To him, whose heart, irrevocably thine,
Resents, and dreads, sighs, shudders, and deplores,
To death desires thee, and to guilt adores.

Away, ye murmurs! — do not dazzling charms,
Each grace that gay, triumphant beauty arms,
Wit, genius, affluence, and pride, unite
To quench my daring hopes in endless night;
Bid her avoid his sight, and scorn his truth,
Whose lot obscure o'er-shades her radiant youth;
And who her peace too generously prefers
To join his yet improsp'rous fate with hers,
Till Time and Industry disperse the gloom,
In which relentless Fortune shrouds his home?

But O! she would forsake her summer-bower,
Tho' fierce winds howl, and clouds tempestuous lour,
Commit to all their rage her tender form,
And share with him the pelting of the storm!

Then with whate'er injustice she upbraid,
Whate'er my shock'd, recoiling sense invade
Indifference, perfidy, or latent art,
Charged thus remorseless on my faithful heart,
That fears to lead her where the tempest blows,
And glooms impend of deep-involving woes,
Yet, O my soul! the dread arraignment bear,
Nor cherish anger, nor admit despair;
Since, if she ceased to love, her rage would cease,
The heart emancipated sinks to peace,
Calls calm disdain and silence to its aid,
And, once renouncing, will no more upbraid!

Come then, ye sweet and bitter pages, come,
Traced by the hand that must award my doom;
By thine, E MILLIA , despot of my soul,
My life's adorner, and my fate's controul.

Then, tho' deplore I must these doubts insane,
Their dire reproaches, their presages vain,
Still every wild, injurious thought of thine,
While thy dear heart-strings round my image twine,
I will endure; — and deprecate the scorn,
Of jealous love, not cold indifference, born;
Appease this seeming — O! but seeming hate,
Know I am loved, and compromise with Fate.