Classic Poem

The silent — yet the the tender Sigh,
The pallid Cheek, the fireless Eye
Reveal my hidden Smart;
The starting Tear, betrays my Pain,
Which to conceal, I strive in vain,
Lie still, rebellious Heart.

Those Ensigns of my fond Despair,
I've us'd, alas! my utmost Care,
To shield from ev'ry Eye;
E'en to Sylvanus , I wou'd too
Disguise my Love; but if I do
I in the Combat die.

The sad Constraint, my Strength subdues,
Then through my dear indulgent Muse
Oh! let my Passion speak;
Let me, in tender Notes, declare
The soft Occasion of my Care,
Then Death thy Victim take.

Sylvanus , dear, belov'd, Ingrate,
Thou Arbitrator of my Fate,
Yet hear me, ere I go;
I love — alas! it is too true,
I die — my Sentence pass'd by you,
Thy Coldness gives the Blow.

Behold! thy Image is imprest,
Within my Heart, and there confest,
The Source of each Desire;
Ah! can you then, untouch'd behold
The Woe, that's thus pathetic told,
And bid my Hopes expire.

Shall I, condemn'd, a Victim prove
To my invariable Love,
And Death from thee receive?
Oh! rather, my fond Flame return,
No longer let me sigh and mourn,
But kindly bid me live.