An EPISTLE. Elizabeth Hands (née Herbert) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
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. T141063 Hands, Elizabeth, 1746-1815. The death of Amnon. A poem. With an appendix: containing pastorals, and other poetical pieces. By Elizabeth Hands. [Coventry] Printed for the author, by N. Rollason, Coventry, M,DCCLXXXIX. 1789 pp. 91-92. [40],127,[1]p.; 8⁰.

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An EPISTLE . My dear Maria , my long absent friend , If you can spare one moment to attend , The plaintive strains of your Belinda hear , Who is your friend , and as yourself sincere . Let love-sick nymphs their faithful shepherds prove , Maria's friendship's more to me than love ; When you were here , I smil'd throughout the day , No rustic shepherdess was half so gay ; But now , alas ! I can no pleasure know , The tedious hours of absence move so slow ; I secret mourn , not daring to complain , Still seeking for relief , but seek in vain . When I walk forth to take the morning air , I quickly to some rising hill repair , From whence I may survey your village spire , Then sigh to you , and languish with desire . At sultry noon retiring to the groves , In search of you , my wand'ring fancy roves , From shade to shade , pleas'd with the vain delight , Imagination brings you to my sight ; Fatigu'd I sink into my painted chair , And your ideal form attends me there . My garden claims one solitary hour , When sober ev'ning closes ev'ry flow'r ; The drooping lily my resemblance bears , Each pensive bloom a shining dew-drop wears ; Such shining drops my closing eyes bedew , While I am absent from the sight of you . When on my couch reclin'd my eyes I close , The God of Sleep refuses me repose ; I ' rise half dress'd , and wander to and fro Along my room , or to my window go : Enraptur'd I behold the moon shine clear , While falling waters murmur in my ear ; My thoughts to you then in a moment fly , The moon shines misty , and my raptures die . Thus ev'ry scene a gloomy prospect wears , And ev'ry object prompts Belinda's tears : 'Tis you , Maria , and 'tis only you , That can the wonted face of things renew ; Come to my groves ; command the birds to sing , And o'er the meadows bid fresh daisies spring . No ! rather come and chase my gloom away , That I may sing like birds , and look like daisies gay .