LOVE ELEGY, TO HENRY. Amelia Opie (née Alderson) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Opie, Amelia Alderson, 1769-1853. The Warrior's Return, and Other Poems. By Mrs. Opie. 2d. ed. London Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, Paternoster-row 1808 pp. [109]-[114].

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LOVE ELEGY , TO HENRY . THEN thou hast learnt the secret of my soul , Officious Friendship has its trust betrayed ; No more I need the bursting sigh control , Nor summon pride my struggling soul to aid . But think not banished hope returns again , Think not I write thy thankless heart to move ; The faded form that tells my tender pain May win thy pity , but it can't thy love . Nor can I move thee by soft winning art , By manners taught to charm , or practised glance ; Artless as thine , my too too feeling heart Disdains the tutored eye , the fond advance . The cold coquette , to win her destined prey , May feign a passion which she ne'er can feel ; But I true Passion's soft commands obey , And fain my tender feelings would conceal . In others' eyes , when fixed on thine , I see That fondness painted which alone I know ; Think not , my Henry , they can love like me , More love I hide than they can e'er bestow . While tender glances their emotions speak , And oft they heave and oft suppress the sigh ; O turn to me , behold my pallid cheek Shrinking from thine , behold my downcast eye ! While they by mirth , by wit , thine ear amuse , And by their eloquence thy plaudits seek ; See me the fond contention still refuse , Nor in thy presence , Henry , dare to speak . When asked to breathe the soul-enchanting song , See them o'erjoyed exert their utmost art ; While vainly I would join the choral throng , Lost are those tones which once could touch the heart . But , Henry , wert thou in Love's language wise , Vainly would others more than Emma shine ; Beyond their sweetest strains thy heart would prize One faint , one broken , tender tone of mine . O proofs of passion , eloquent as vain ! By thee unheeded , or perhaps unknown , .... But learn , the pangs that prompt this pensive strain , Ere long , disdainful youth , may be thine own . Ah ! no .... in hopeless love thou canst not pine , Thou ne'er canst woo the brightest maid in vain ; For thee Love's star midst cloudless skies will shine , And light thy graceful steps to Hymen's fane : While I , as hope , and strength , and life recede , Far , far from thee shall waste the languid day ; Blest , if the scroll that speaks thy bliss I read , But far more blest to feel life's powers decay .