Poems (Lewis)/Delia to Edmund

by Matthew Gregory Lewis

DELIA TO EDMUND.

WRITTEN AT A LADY'S DESIRE, IN ANWSER TO THE FOLLOWING STANZAS BY P. PINDAR.

 

[Ah! why to others art thou fair?
Why from thy bosom's snowy white,
Thy smiles, thy cheeks, thy glossy hair,
Must other Shepherds steal delight?

From morn to eve let me admire,
Untired thy converse sweet approve;
Thy charms which other Shepherds fire,
Oh! Delia, wrong my constant love.

I feel the beauties that are thine,
Yet let my heart alone adore:
An avarice of love is mine,
That doats, like Misers, on their Store.

Then, Delia, view my secret vale,
And with thy smiles indulge the Swain;
How blest to tell the love-sick tale,
To Her, whom thousands seek in vain!]

 

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ANSWER.

 

Ye powers, who oft have heard my prayer,
To make him your peculiar care,
Witness with how much rapture I could fly
With Edmund to the lowliest cell,
And there unknown, unknowing dwell,
Nor give to aught I left one tear or sigh!

But did not Pride inspire the lay,
Which courts me to that cell away?
Lurks in his lines no selfish envious thought?
And would his faith unchanged remain,
"To her whom thousands seek in vain,"
If she by thousands should no more be sought?

Does not his conscious heart feel proud,
When turning from the adoring croud,
My eyes are only anxious his to meet?
Joys He not, when by every tongue
He hears his Delia's praises rung,
And finds that praise from his alone is sweet?

He does! And now his power to try,
From all but him he bids me fly,
And shew the world, how wildly I adore!
Dear Youth, the ungenerous wish repress:
It has not made me love thee less. . . . . .
But has not, Edmund, made me love thee more.

Yet if I wrong thee, if indeed
'Tis fear that makes thy poor heart bleed,
Lest She thou lov'st, some other should prefer,
Let me thy jealous doubts efface,
Wrong me not with a thought so base,
For Delia trusts in thee!—Oh! trust in Her!

Believe, that in my own sincere
All vows but thine offend my ear;
Then hush thy anxious bosom's care to rest;
And when thou hear'st a Rival's name,
Think that his sighs but fan the flame,
Which thou alone hast kindled in my breast.

That wealth and title sue to me,
Glads me, I own, since 'tis for thee
Such glorious glittering baubles I resign;
Or should a smile my cheek adorn,
Oh! trust me, I but smile in scorn,
To think their merits should contend with thine.

Then conscious that my heart is true,
Unmoved for that see others sue,
Which to thy care long since I gladly gave;
With me the palm of Conquest share,
My chains when Captive Thousands wear,
And triumph in the thought,—"their
Sovereign is my Slave."—