Constancy. An Ode
AN ODE.
Stella, the pride of Devon's flow'ry plains,
With cold indifference heard admiring swains,
Since cruel war to distant climes remov'd
The only youth her gentle heart approv'd:
The blooming hero honor's call obey'd,
Tho' more than life he loved the charming maid.
With him fair Stella's ev'ry bliss was fled,
And sad Despair oft whisper'd, " Henry's dead. "
One day, beside a murm'ring stream reclin'd,
In plaintive strains she thus relieved her mind.
In vain I strive to hide my woe, —
The sigh will rise, the tear will flow,
And every look declare,
The love that glows within my breast,
The grief that robs my soul of rest,
And fills it with despair.
The gay return of flow'ry spring,
The tuneful notes these warblers sing,
The blush of rising morn,
Delight not while I lonely stray,
And grieve that Henry far away
From Stella's arms is torn.
Sighing, she paus'd; nor knew her artless strain
Was heard by Celedon, the rich, the vain, —
Who, though repuls'd, defied the frowning maid,
And thus his passion, and his wealth display'd:
Stay, my cruel charmer, stay, —
Hear an ardent lover sue:
Do not, Stella, turn away, —
Look on one who dies for you.
Ceres and Pomona join
Each year to bless my fertile ground;
All those flocks and herds are mine,
That graze the verdant hills around.
Cease then, Stella, thus to pain me, —
Absent swains may prove untrue;
Scornful maid, ere you disdain me,
Know if Henry thinks of you.
On Stella's cheek a blush indignant glows,
Emperil'd with' tears, like dew-drops on a rose;
Which brook action in views the haughty youth,
And newly boast firm unshaken truth.
Not all your wealth, mistaken swain, —
Not all your arts will do;
In vain you strive my heart to gain, —
My heart to Henry true .
Go, seek a maid whose sordid soul
By riches may be caught;
They ne'er can Stella's love controul,
Or alter one fond thought.
Nor by your own contracted mind
E'er measure Henry's love,
Too fix'd for falsehood to unbind,
Or absence to remove.
Gay Celadon, with self-important air,
And careless bow, thus jeers the constant fair:
Farewell, Stella, — yet, be wise; —
Tears will spoil those brilliant eyes,
Sorrow tinge that skin of snow,
Make thy roses pallid grow;
When that face has lost its charms,
Who will court thee to their arms?
Repentant too late,
Thou mayst sigh and complain;
Will they pity thy fate
Who have felt thy disdain?
Farewell, Stella, — yet, be wise, —
Fairer nymphs my heart will prize.
Stella, once more alone, her thoughts express'd,
And to the gods this fervent prayer address'd:
Guardian powers, who hear me sigh,
Shield my love, when danger's nigh.
From distant lands, where tumult reigns,
O! lead him to these peaceful plains;
My soul will bless the happy day!
Rapture, chace my grief away,
When, for glorious deeds renown'd,
My Henry comes with laurels crown'd:
Myrtle with his wreath I'll twine, —
Love and glory shall combine.
Stella, the pride of Devon's flow'ry plains,
With cold indifference heard admiring swains,
Since cruel war to distant climes remov'd
The only youth her gentle heart approv'd:
The blooming hero honor's call obey'd,
Tho' more than life he loved the charming maid.
With him fair Stella's ev'ry bliss was fled,
And sad Despair oft whisper'd, " Henry's dead. "
One day, beside a murm'ring stream reclin'd,
In plaintive strains she thus relieved her mind.
In vain I strive to hide my woe, —
The sigh will rise, the tear will flow,
And every look declare,
The love that glows within my breast,
The grief that robs my soul of rest,
And fills it with despair.
The gay return of flow'ry spring,
The tuneful notes these warblers sing,
The blush of rising morn,
Delight not while I lonely stray,
And grieve that Henry far away
From Stella's arms is torn.
Sighing, she paus'd; nor knew her artless strain
Was heard by Celedon, the rich, the vain, —
Who, though repuls'd, defied the frowning maid,
And thus his passion, and his wealth display'd:
Stay, my cruel charmer, stay, —
Hear an ardent lover sue:
Do not, Stella, turn away, —
Look on one who dies for you.
Ceres and Pomona join
Each year to bless my fertile ground;
All those flocks and herds are mine,
That graze the verdant hills around.
Cease then, Stella, thus to pain me, —
Absent swains may prove untrue;
Scornful maid, ere you disdain me,
Know if Henry thinks of you.
On Stella's cheek a blush indignant glows,
Emperil'd with' tears, like dew-drops on a rose;
Which brook action in views the haughty youth,
And newly boast firm unshaken truth.
Not all your wealth, mistaken swain, —
Not all your arts will do;
In vain you strive my heart to gain, —
My heart to Henry true .
Go, seek a maid whose sordid soul
By riches may be caught;
They ne'er can Stella's love controul,
Or alter one fond thought.
Nor by your own contracted mind
E'er measure Henry's love,
Too fix'd for falsehood to unbind,
Or absence to remove.
Gay Celadon, with self-important air,
And careless bow, thus jeers the constant fair:
Farewell, Stella, — yet, be wise; —
Tears will spoil those brilliant eyes,
Sorrow tinge that skin of snow,
Make thy roses pallid grow;
When that face has lost its charms,
Who will court thee to their arms?
Repentant too late,
Thou mayst sigh and complain;
Will they pity thy fate
Who have felt thy disdain?
Farewell, Stella, — yet, be wise, —
Fairer nymphs my heart will prize.
Stella, once more alone, her thoughts express'd,
And to the gods this fervent prayer address'd:
Guardian powers, who hear me sigh,
Shield my love, when danger's nigh.
From distant lands, where tumult reigns,
O! lead him to these peaceful plains;
My soul will bless the happy day!
Rapture, chace my grief away,
When, for glorious deeds renown'd,
My Henry comes with laurels crown'd:
Myrtle with his wreath I'll twine, —
Love and glory shall combine.
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