Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE LOVER AND THE FRIEND, by EDWARD MOORE (1712-1757)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE LOVER AND THE FRIEND, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: O thou for whom my lyre I string
Last Line: At once the lover and the friend.
Subject(s): Death; Friendship; Love; Dead, The


O THOU for whom my lyre I string,
Of whom I speak, and think, and sing;
Thou constant object of my joys,
Whose sweetness every wish employs,
Thou dearest of thy sex! attend,
And hear the Lover and the Friend.

Fear not the poet's flattering strain,
No idle praise my verse shall stain;
The lowly numbers shall impart
The faithful dictates of my heart,
Nor humble modesty offend,
And part the Lover from the Friend.

Not distant is the cruel day
That tears me from my hopes away;
Then frown not, fairest! if I try
To steal the moisture from your eye,
Or force your heart a sigh to send,
To mourn the Lover and the Friend.

No perfect joy my life e'er knew
But what arose from love and you,
Nor can I fear another pain
Than your unkindness or disdain;
Then let your looks their pity lend,
To cheer the Lover and the Friend.

Whole years I strove against the flame,
And suffer'd ills that want a name;
Yet still the painful secret kept,
And to myself in silence wept,
Till, grown unable to contend,
I own'd the Lover and the Friend.

I saw you still: your generous heart
In all my sorrows bore a part,
Yet while your eyes with pity glow'd
No words of hope your tongue bestow'd,
But mildly bid me cease to blend
The name of Lover with the Friend.

Sick with desire, and mad with pain,
I seek for happiness in vain:
Thou, lovely maid! to thee I cry;
Heal me with kindness or I die!
From sad despair my soul defend,
And fix the Lover and the Friend.

Curs'd be all wealth that can destroy
My utmost hope of earthly joy!
Thy gifts, O Fortune, I resign,
Let her and Poverty be mine!
And every year that life shall lend
Shall bless the Lover and the Friend.

In vain, alas! in vain I strive
To keep a dying hope alive:
The last sad remedy remains;
'Tis absence that must heal my pains,
Thy image from my bosom rend,
And force the Lover from the Friend.

Vain thought! though seas between us roll,
Thy love is rooted in my soul;
The vital blood that warms my heart
With thy idea must depart,
And Death's decisive stroke must end
At once the Lover and the Friend.





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