Page:Poems upon Several Occasions.djvu/68

Tell, for you know the Burthen of my Heart,
Its killing Anguish, and its secret Smart.
My Life consuming with eternal Grief,
From Herbs and Spells I seek a vain Relief;
To ev'ry wise Magician I repair,
In vain! for still I love, and I despair.
Circè, Medéa, and the Sibyl Books,
Contain not half th' Enchantment of her Looks.
Tell, for you know the Burthen of my Heart,
Its killing Anguish, and its secret Smart.
As melted Gold preserves its Weight the same,
So burnt my Love, nor wasted in the Flame.
And now unable to support the Strife,
A glimmering Hope recalls departing Life;
My Rival dying, I no longer grieve,
Since I may ask, and she with Honour give.
Tell, for you know the Burthen of my Heart,
Its killing Anguish, and its secret Smart.
Witness ye Hours, with what unweary'd Care,
From Place to Place I still pursu'd the Fair.
Nor was Occasion to reveal my Flame
Slow to my Succour, for it swiftly came:
It came, it came, that moment of Delight,
O Gods! And how I trembled at her Sight!
Tell, for you know the Burthen of my Heart;
Its killing Anguish, and its secret Smart.
Dismay'd and motionless, confus'd, amaz'd,
Trembling I stood, and terrify'd I gaz'd;

My