DELIA.
91
For Love has sworn,—I heard the awful vow,—
The wavering heart shall never be his care,
That stoops at any baser shrine to bow ;
And what he cannot rule, he scorns to share.
My heart in Delia is so fully blest,
It has no room to lodge another joy;
My peace all leans upon that gentle breast,
And only there misfortune can annoy.
Our silent hours shall steal unmarked away,
In one long tender calm of rural peace,
And measure many a fair unblemished day
Of cheerful leisure and poetic ease.
The proud unfeeling world their lot shall scorn,
Who 'midst inglorious shades can poorly dwell:—
Yet if some youth, for gentler passions born,
Shall chance to wander near our lowly cell,
