Her tender smiles shall pay me with delight For many an anxious day and sleepless night, Delia shall come and bless my lone retreat: The simple knot shall bind her gathered hair, By charms alone distinguished from the rest. And meek Simplicity, neglected maid, Shall bid my fair in native graces shine; She, only she, shall lend her modest aid, Chaste, sober priestess, at sweet Beauty's shrine! How sweet to muse by murmuring springs reclined! When Delia's hand unlocks her shining hair, And o'er her shoulder spreads the flowing gold; Base were the man who one bright tress would spare For all the ore of India's coarser mold. By her dear side with what content I'd toil! Guide the slow plough, or turn the stubborn soil, Till the last lingering beam of doubtful light. But softer tasks divide my Delia's hours ; To watch the firstlings at their harmless play; With welcome shade to screen the languid flowers That sicken in the summer's parching ray. Oft will she stoop amidst her evening walk, With tender hand each bruised plant to rear; To bind the drooping lily's broken stalk, And nurse the blossoms of the infant year. When beating rains forbid our feet to roam, We'll sheltered sit, and turn the storied page; There see what passions shake the lofty dome With mad ambition or ungoverned rage: What headlong ruin oft involves the great; What conscious terrors guilty bosoms prove; What strange and sudden turns of adverse fate Tear the sad virgin from her plighted love. Delia shall read, and drop a gentle tear; Then cast her eyes around the low-roofed cot, And own the Fates have dealt more kindly here, That blessed with only love our little lot. For Love has sworn, -I heard the awful vow, The wavering heart shall never be his care, That stoops at any baser shrine to bow; And what he cannot rule, he scorns to share. My heart in Delia is so fully blest, It has no room to lodge another joy; My peace all leans upon that gentle breast, Our silent hours shall steal unmarked away, The proud unfeeling world their lot shall scorn, Who 'midst inglorious shades can poorly dwell :Yet if some youth, for gentler passions born, Shall chance to wander near our lowly cell, |