“Love is not a feeling to pass away
Like the balmy breath of a summer's day,
It is not-it cannot be-laid aside,
It is not a thing to forget or hide,
It clings to the heart, ah woe is me !
As the ivy clings to the old oak tree.”
-Dickens, "The Village Coquettes.”
HAVE you a son single so bold as to venture
To have and to hold and so in the noose enter,
For better for worse? if so, to his arms
I'll quickly surrender my bays and my charms,
Theodora.
What! in terms matrimonial make new pro
And does rich Theodora espouse the conditions? An immediate reply for your charms should be
Could you shun but the fate of the jolly old Lady."
'Tis you dear youth, that I aspire to know,
'Tis you from whom such charming numbers flow;
Your love I blushing ask: my trembling quill,
Conscious of guilt with pleasing tortures fill
My almost fainting soul, winged with desire,
Till I the prize, the longed-for prize, acquire.
But e'er the time and happy time I choose
This boon I supplicate you'll not refuse.
Will you a dear associate please to allow,
A witness of my joy and of our vows?
No vows, dear Theodora, of our loves
A vow restrains, where liberty improves ;
Where inclinations do not strongly bind,
All formal vows will prove, alas ! but wind,
And witnesses are but litigious snares,
Who truly love, despise those vulgar cares :
Effects of mean distrust, our brighter fires
Shall have for witnesses our own desires."
No more delays, dear youth, my self and charms
I yield an easy victim to your arms,
And now invite you boldly to that war
Where only soft endearments weapons are ;
My fancy does my expectation move
With hopes of more than bare Platonic love;
Expect me, then, bright darling of my soul,
West of that place where sporting billows roll,
Within the park, those pleasant royal groves,
Shall be the witness of our tender loves;
Just at that time when stars of lesser light
Vanish, ashamed at your great father's sight,
The morning that succeeds your next reply
Thither with joy will Theodora fly.
"A. :—
Mysterious sex, formed to amuse mankind,
Who can the depths of all your riddles find;
Fair Theodora owns herself a lover,
But still declines the object to discover.
One of Apollo's sons, she grants the grace,
But names not which, of all Apollo's race,
In sacred bands of amity they're ty'd,
Nor would infringe the knot, e'en for a bride.
In mutual courtesies dwells their delight,
Each cautious to invade another's right,
Till Theodora then her swain reveals, Whilst she declares obscurely she conceals." "Q.:
How long must Theodora sue in vain,
E'er she her lovely charmer can obtain,
How long her bitter plaints and sighs rehearse,
Tell o'er and o'er her wounds in humble verse
Amidst the glorious youth that dazzling shine
In your bright synod, in your royal line,
My tim'rous quill does willingly impart,
Which has my love, which has my absent heart. 'Tis he who with sweet numbers long hath charmed,
And now of all its force my soul disarmed; 'Tis he who writes so heavenly, so divine, Conveying secret wounds by every line; Whose nervous verse and lofty vigorous flights, Ravish each list'ning maid with pure delights, Who willing pris'ners make the beauteous nine, Whilst other's arms they scornfully decline To set in clearest light the doubt, 'tis he, Whose province it has been to treat with me. "A. :
So soft, so sweet, your charming numbers flow,
So bright a soul their tuneful author show;
Whilst Theodora by these powerful arts
Assaults, o'ercomes, and captivates our hearts;
Enough to shake our undivided state,
Were not our amity confirmed by fate,
The glorious prize each claiming to belong
To secret merits of his happy song;
Whilst we alternately our force rejoin,
Ambitious in your favours all to shine.
Since each then to that province hath aspired,
And each with hopes of fair success is fir'd;
Which is the happy swain we all submit
To the unerring umpire of your wit."
Tell me, dear, cruel youth, O tell me why
You strove to wound me by your late reply?
With keenest satyr sought to pierce my heart,
Methinks, you rather cordials should impart ;
Is't not enough to flee my too fond arms,
Now you have gained a conquest by your
Is't not enough to captivate my soul,
Wherein those strong tumultuous passions roll,
Of love, of hope, of fear? unhappy maid,
Whose powerful love her weakness has betrayed.
Don't pierce a virgin's breast who does adore
Your grateful name more than she did before;
No more thus persecute a vanquished fair,
By lines that cut too deep for her to bear,
If Theodora writes refined lays
'Tis by the influence of your brighter rays; But the reverse
Dispel those clouds that hover o'er my head,
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