A
LOVE
LETTER
.
By
the
Same
.
WHAT
shall
I
say
to
fix
thy
wav'ring
mind
,
To
chase
thy
doubts
,
and
force
thee
to
be
kind
?
What
weight
of
argument
can
turn
the
scale
,
If
intercession
from
a
lover
fail
?
By
what
shall
I
conjure
thee
to
obey
This
tender
summons
,
nor
prolong
thy
stay
?
If
unabated
in
this
constant
breast
That
passion
burns
which
once
thy
vows
profess'd
;
If
absence
has
not
chill'd
the
languid
flame
,
Its
ardour
and
its
purity
the
same
;
Indulge
those
transports
,
and
no
more
controul
The
dictates
of
thy
fond
consenting
soul
;
By
no
vain
scruple
be
thy
purpose
sway'd
,
And
only
Love
implicitly
obey'd
:
Let
inclination
this
debate
decide
,
Nor
be
thy
prudence
,
but
thy
heart
thy
guide
:
But
real
prudence
never
can
oppose
What
Love
suggests
,
and
Gratitude
avows
:
The
warm
dear
raptures
which
thy
bosom
move
,
'Tis
virtue
to
indulge
,
'tis
wisdom
to
improve
:
For
think
how
few
the
joys
allow'd
by
Fate
,
How
mix'd
the
cup
,
how
short
their
longest
date
!
How
onward
still
the
stream
of
pleasure
flows
!
That
no
reflux
the
rapid
current
knows
!
Not
ev'n
thy
charms
can
bribe
the
ruthless
hand
Of
rigid
Time
,
to
stay
his
ebbing
sand
;
Fair
as
thou
art
,
that
beauty
must
decay
;
The
night
of
age
succeeds
the
brightest
day
:
That
check
where
Nature's
sweetest
garden
blows
,
Her
whitest
lily
,
and
her
warmest
rose
;
Those
eyes
,
those
meaning
ministers
of
Love
,
Who
,
what
thy
lips
can
only
utter
,
prove
;
These
must
resign
their
lustre
,
those
their
bloom
,
And
find
with
meaner
charms
one
common
doom
:
Pass
but
a
few
short
years
,
this
change
must
be
;
Nor
one
less
dreadful
shalt
thou
mourn
in
me
:
For
tho'
no
chance
can
alienate
my
flame
,
While
thine
to
feed
the
lamp
,
shall
burn
the
same
,
Yet
shall
the
stream
of
years
abate
that
fire
,
And
cold
esteem
succeed
to
warm
desire
:
Then
on
thy
breast
unraptur'd
shall
I
dwell
,
Nor
feel
a
joy
beyond
what
I
can
tell
.
Or
say
,
should
sickness
antedate
that
woe
,
And
intercept
what
Time
would
else
allow
;
If
pain
should
pall
my
taste
to
all
thy
charms
,
Or
Death
himself
should
tear
me
from
thy
arms
;
How
would'st
thou
then
regret
with
fruitless
truth
,
The
precious
squander'd
hours
of
health
and
youth
?
Come
then
,
my
love
,
nor
trust
the
future
day
,
Live
whilst
we
can
,
be
happy
whilst
we
may
:
For
what
is
life
unless
its
joys
we
prove
?
And
what
is
happiness
but
mutual
love
?
Our
time
is
wealth
no
frugal
hand
can
store
,
All
our
possession
is
the
present
hour
,
And
he
who
spares
to
use
it
,
ever
poor
.
The
golden
now
is
all
that
we
can
boast
;
And
that
(
like
snow
)
at
once
is
grasp'd
and
lost
.
Haste
,
wing
thy
passage
then
,
no
more
delay
,
But
to
these
eyes
their
sole
delight
convey
.
Not
thus
I
languish'd
for
thy
virgin
charms
,
When
first
surrender'd
to
these
eager
arms
,
When
first
admitted
to
that
heav'n
,
thy
breast
,
To
mine
I
strain'd
that
charming
foe
to
rest
;
How
leaps
my
conscious
heart
,
whilst
I
retrace
The
dear
idea
of
that
strict
embrace
?
When
on
thy
bosom
quite
entranc'd
I
lay
,
And
love
unsated
the
short
night
away
;
Whilst
half
reluctant
you
,
and
half
resign'd
,
Amidst
fears
,
wishes
,
pain
and
pleasure
join'd
,
Now
holding
off
,
now
growing
to
my
breast
,
By
turns
reprov'd
me
,
and
by
turns
caress'd
.
Oh
!
how
remembrance
throbs
in
every
vein
!
I
pant
,
I
sicken
for
that
scene
again
;
My
senses
ach
,
I
can
no
word
command
,
And
the
pen
totters
in
my
trembling
hand
.
Farewel
,
thou
only
joy
on
earth
I
know
,
And
all
that
man
can
taste
of
heav'n
below
.