Classic Poem

Fain would I thank you, gentle friend;
Fain all your soothing cares approve;
But ah! my adverse pow'rs contend,
And gratitude resigns to love.

Stop then, Louisa, — curb your zeal: —
Reproach, avaunt! — stay thy foul dart! —
Think, oh! my friend, I love her still,
Nor wound me in that tend'rest part.

Say, rather say, my Delia's true;
Tell of her worth, her charms divine!
Say her's is love and pity too;
And want of merit only mine.

But oh! forbear the ruthless sound
Of cruel — selfish — haughty — vain;
It but exasperates my wound,
And gives new torments to my pain.

How strange the varied force of love?
Oft seen — oft felt — but ne'er defin'd:
'Tis mine this mystery to prove —
A heart distracted, yet resign'd.

I rave at fortune; then with tears
For Delia send to Heav'n a pray'r;
Bid blessings crown her future years,
Unmix'd with sorrow, pain, and care.

I say — when in another's arms,
She seeks the happiness I sought;
May one more worthy of her charms,
As kind, as true, be Delia's lot.

Farewell, Louisa! and beware!
For Delia's more than all I've sung;
Patient and firm my griefs I'll bear;
But ne'er excuse the sland'rer's tongue.

And, oh! forgive this harsh rebuke;
It ill becomes my Muse to you: —
Kind e'en in this, you but mistook
The way to soothe. — Once more, adieu.