Speak not of love.
[Written by J. Yool of Paisley, and first printed in "The Portfolio of British Song."]
Speak not of love to one whose breast
Is icy cold to idle joy;
Whose passions long have sunk to rest,
And chase no more the phantom toy.
Yet I have felt the maddening force
Of fickle love and passion's sway,
And run delirium's frenzied course
When love and pleasure led the way.
And I have watch'd the bosom's swell
That speaks of passion uncontroll'd,
And gaz'd on sparkling eyes, that tell
What virgin fears would not unfold.
And I have snatch'd the balmy kiss
From ruby lips where love might play,
And prest the downy breast of bliss,
And sigh'd my very soul away.
Yes, I have run love's maddening race
As more than worlds had been the stake,
My feelings wearied in the chase,
Have slumber'd never more to wake.
And now, though recollection shed
A ray of mem'ry o'er my brain,
It brings the trace of time long fled,
Without the pleasure or the pain.