Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/104

Here Jealousie with Jaundice Looks appears,
And broken Slumbers, and fantastick Fears.
The widow'd Turtle hangs her moulting Wings,
And to the Woods in mournful Murmurs sings.
No Winds but Sighs are there, no Floods but Tears,
Each conscious Tree a Tragick Signal bears.
Their wounded Bark records some broken Vow,
And Willow Garlands hang on ev'ry Bough.

⁠Olivia here in Solitude he found,
Her down-cast Eyes fix'd on the silent Ground:
Her Dress neglected, and unbound her Hair,
She seem'd the dying Image of Despair.
How lately did this celebrated Thing
Blaze in the Box, and sparkle in the Ring,
'Till the Green-sickness and Love's force betray'd
To Death's remorseless Arms th'unhappy Maid.

⁠All o'er confus'd the guilty Lover stood,
The Light forsook his Eyes, his Cheeks the Blood;
An Icy Horrour shiver'd in his Look,
As to the cold-complexion'd Nymph He spoke:

⁠Tell me, dear Shade, from whence such anxious Care,
Your Looks disorder'd, and your Bosom bare?
Why thus you languish like a drooping Flow'r,
Crush'd by the weight of some relentless Show'r?
Your languid Looks, your late ill Conduct tell;
O that instead of Trash you'd taken Steel!

⁠Stabb'd with th'unkind Reproach, the Conscious Maid
Thus to her late insulting Lover said;

When