Poems (Lewis)/Lines written on a Journey

by Matthew Gregory Lewis

LINES WRITTEN ON A JOURNEY.

 

I hasten once more to the place,
Which saw the first dawn of my woes!
Once more I shall gaze on the face,
Which banished my bosom's repose.
Ah! Madman, be wise, and retire,
The danger while still you may shun;
You will gaze, and again will admire,
Will again be despised and undone!

Oh! well I remember the morn,
Which first showed me Amoret's eyes!
She repaid my affection with scorn,
I only reproached her with sighs!
She laughed at a passion so wild,
She called it presumptuous and vain;
And the Madman rejoiced that she smiled,
Though he knew, she but smiled in disdain.

How oft in the dream of the night
Have I doated on Amoret's charms!
How oft at return of the light
Have I wished she were clasped in my arms!
How I grieved that it was but a dream,
And vainly looked round for relief!
The grief which I felt was extreme,
And my folly was great as my grief:

For though I could never persuade
My heart, that She e'er would be mine,
Though I knew to be loved by a Maid
In mind and in form thus divine,
Was bliss so peculiar, so high,
That it never could fall to my lot,
Yet I loved her, and never thought why,
And hoped, though I dared not say what!

I sighed for that bliss night and day,
Which I feared I should never obtain;
I mourned that the Maid was away,
Though I thought we should ne'er meet again.
My folly in vain I discerned,
In vain to forget her I strove,
For Nature, where-ever I turned,
Still bade me remember my love!

The trees as they streamed in the air,
The Rose where the Bee loved to sip,
Showed the waving of Amoret's hair,
Showed the coral of Amoret's Lip:
And when the bright Sky or blue Sea
Others viewed with delight and surprize,
No thought was suggested to me
But the colour of Amoret's eyes!

Ah! me! with what tender delight
Did my doating eyes dwell on each face,
In whose features my love-quickened sight
Could find of her beauties a trace!
To all, whom I saw her prefer,
Good-will did my bosom extend;
And they, who spoke kindly of her,
In me were secure of a Friend.

At the moment She first met my view,
I felt 'twas my fate to adore;
With each moment that over me flew,
I felt that I loved her the more:
And when I was forced to depart,
My feelings no language can tell:
I bade her adieu in my heart,
But my lips could not murmur—"Farewell!"—

Yet absence has proved to me kind,
And my bosom once more is at rest;
Healed up is the wound of my mind,
And cold is the flame in my breast:
But again when her beauties I view,
I feel I again shall adore;
My wound will burst open anew,
And my flame burn as fierce as before.

Yet my danger in vain I perceive;
Though I know to my ruin I run,
I will not my reason believe,
Which bids me the precipice shun:
For if Amoret fastens my chains,
I never shall wish to be free;
And if she is pleased with my pains,
Those pains shall be cherished by me!