Self-Denial

For now, his tide of gladness to oppose,A clay-cold damp of doubts and fears arose;Clouds, which involve, midst Love and Reason's strife,The poor man's prospect when he takes a wife.Though gay his journeys in the Summer's prime,Each seem'd the repetition of a crime;He never left her but with many a sigh,When tears stole down his face, she knew not why.Severe his task those visits to forego,And feed his heart with voluntary woe.Yet this he did; the wan Moon circling foundHis evenings cheerless, and his rest unsound;And saw th' unquenched flame his bosom swell:What were his doubts, thus let the Story tellA month's sharp conflict only serv'd to proveThe pow'r, as well as truth, of Walter's love.Absence more strongly on his mind portray'dHis own sweet, injur'd, unoffending Maid.

Once more he'd go; full resolute awhile,But heard his native Bells on every stile;The sound recall'd him with a pow'rful charm,The Heath wide open'd, and the day was warm;There, where a bed of tempting green he found,Increasing anguish weigh'd him to the ground;His well-grown limbs the scatter'd Daisies press'd,While his clinch'd hand fell heavy on his breast.'Why do I go in cruel sport to say,"I love thee, Jane; appoint the happy day?"'Why seek her sweet ingenuous reply,'Then grasp her hand and proffer--poverty?'Why, if I love her and adore her name,'Why act like time and sickness on her frame?'Why should my scanty pittance nip her prime,'And chace away the Rose before its time?'I'm young, 'tis true; the world beholds me free;'Labour ne'er show'd a frightful face to me;