Poems (Campbell)/To Mary
For works with similar titles, see To Mary.
TO MARY.
They, treach'rous, tell thee love is sweet,
And yet my Mary's cheek is wet
With many a pearly tear:
Ah! tell me then, my lovely maid!
From whence that liquid wand'rer stray'd,
And whence those sighs I hear?
And yet my Mary's cheek is wet
With many a pearly tear:
Ah! tell me then, my lovely maid!
From whence that liquid wand'rer stray'd,
And whence those sighs I hear?
Can love, so gentle and so fair,
Put on the semblance thus of care,
And cloud thy youthful days?
Say, can he bid thy breast assume
The suit of woe, the pensive gloom,
That only grief should raise?
Put on the semblance thus of care,
And cloud thy youthful days?
Say, can he bid thy breast assume
The suit of woe, the pensive gloom,
That only grief should raise?
Alas! thy bosom's heaving swell,
The tears that from thine eye-lids fell,
Relate a mournful tale:
The rose of beauty is decay'd,
And on thy cheek, sweet lovely maid!
Now reigns the lily pale.
The tears that from thine eye-lids fell,
Relate a mournful tale:
The rose of beauty is decay'd,
And on thy cheek, sweet lovely maid!
Now reigns the lily pale.
Go, treach'rous love—I bid thee go—
Thou art the source of many a woe,
And short thy boasted joy;
Thy trembling sighs, thy streaming tears,
Thy anxious hopes, and jealous fears,
My Mary's peace destroy.
Thou art the source of many a woe,
And short thy boasted joy;
Thy trembling sighs, thy streaming tears,
Thy anxious hopes, and jealous fears,
My Mary's peace destroy.
I come in friendship's purest guise,
To chace those tear-drops from her eyes,
And hush those sighs of woe:
Oh, Love! restore my Mary's peace,
And let thy busy tumult cease,
Or wonted joy bestow.
To chace those tear-drops from her eyes,
And hush those sighs of woe:
Oh, Love! restore my Mary's peace,
And let thy busy tumult cease,
Or wonted joy bestow.