Stanzas.[591]

1.     Could Love for ever     Run like a river,     And Time's endeavour     Be tried in vain -     No other pleasure     With this could measure;     And like a treasure[ik]     We'd hug the chain.     But since our sighing     Ends not in dying,     And, formed for flying,     Love plumes his wing;     Then for this reason     Let's love a season;     But let that season be only Spring. 2.     When lovers parted     Feel broken-hearted,     And, all hopes thwarted,     Expect to die;     A few years older,     Ah! how much colder     They might behold her     For whom they sigh!     When linked together,     In every weather,[il]     They pluck Love's feather     From out his wing -     He'll stay for ever,[im]     But sadly shiver     Without his plumage, when past the Spring.[in] 3.     Like Chiefs of Faction,     His life is action -     A formal paction     That curbs his reign,     Obscures his glory,     Despot no more, he     Such territory     Quits with disdain.     Still, still advancing,     With banners glancing,     His power enhancing,     He must move on -     Repose but cloys him,     Retreat destroys him,     Love brooks not a degraded throne. 4.     Wait not, fond lover!     Till years are over,     And then recover     As from a dream.     While each bewailing     The other's failing.     With wrath and railing,     All hideous seem -     While first decreasing,     Yet not quite ceasing,     Wait not till teasing,     All passion blight:     If once diminished     Love's reign is finished -     Then part in friendship, - and bid good-night.[io] 5.     So shall Affection     To recollection     The dear connection     Bring back with joy:     You had not waited[ip]     Till, tired or hated,     Your passions sated     Began to cloy.     Your last embraces     Leave no cold traces -     The same fond faces     As through the past:     And eyes, the mirrors     Of your sweet errors,     Reflect but rapture - not least though last. 6.     True, separations[iq]     Ask more than patience;     What desperations     From such have risen!     But yet remaining,     What is't but chaining     Hearts which, once waning,     Beat 'gainst their prison?     Time can but cloy love,     And use destroy love:     The wingd boy, Love,     Is but for boys -     You'll find it torture     Though sharper, shorter,     To wean, and not wear out your joys.     December 1, 1819.                 [First published, New Monthly Magazine, 1832, vol. xxxv. pp. 310-312.]