Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE VISIT, by A LADY [PSEUD.]


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE VISIT, by                    
First Line: "by absence, and unkind neglect"
Last Line: Short intervals of sweet content; / but lasting hours of woe
Alternate Author Name(s): A Lady
Subject(s): Love - Complaints


BY absence, and unkind neglect,
Fond passion almost cured,
No greater ills did I expect
Than those I had endured.

Time's lenient hand a cordial brought
To ease my love-sick breast;
Which softly soothed each anxious thought,
And lulled my cares to rest.

When lo! before my dazzled sight
The swain in smiles appears:
My beating heart felt new delight!
Far flew its wonted fears!

The moments gaily glided on;
He never charmed me more:
Love was the subject he begun,
And well expressed its power.

With curious search, he meant to learn
What I resolved to hide;
A tender heart he might discern,
In spite of all my pride.

But its emotions so concealed,
The flame it long had known,
By no unguarded word revealed,
By no fond look was shown.

In friendly guise, I gently leant
On his unkind neglect,
My thoughts on all his words intent,
Some gleam of hope expect.

What pleasures round my bosom steal,
When, with a gentle smile,
'The truth from thee I'll not conceal,'
He cried, and paused awhile.

Delusive wish was on the wing,
With phantoms fair to cheat;
Inviting views from fancy spring,
And aid the soft deceit.

But ah! what hideous forms succeed,
To chill my panting heart!
My doom I felt at once decreed!
Swift flew the killing dart:

When from Philander's lips I heard
A nymph divinely fair
Employed each thought, her smiles reward
With joy each tender care.

Then dwelling on the dire event,
He poured forth all his mind:
Expressed, in full, his fond content,
And when the fair was kind.

Ah! why to me the sickening tale,
And all thy joys reveal?
Did generous sentiments prevail,
With candour thus to deal?

Was my fond passion known to thee,
In spite of all my care?
And thy intent to set me free,
To cure me by despair?

What motives could thy purpose guide
To this destructive theme?
The fatal secret to confide,
And wound me with esteem!

O Love! whose power so few resist!
Why cruelly delight
To lead us to the summit wished,
Then cast us from its height!

Like tyrants fell, on mischief bent,
Thy treacherous arts bestow
Short intervals of sweet content;
But lasting hours of woe!





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