A pastoral ballad in eight anapestic quatrains, signed "Indiana." This sequel to A Pastoral, published in August, finds Eliza in a more relenting humor: "I flew to the casket of love, | And each dear memorial caress'd, | In vain to accuse him I strove, | Too deep was his image impress'd."
To ease my fond heart of it's pain,
To soften the pangs I endure,
I wander'd alone o'er the plain,
And in solitude sought out a cure;
But ah! 'twas in vain, for each bough,
Whose leaves gently wav'd with the wind,
Repeated thy truth and thy vow,
And whisper'd my Damon was kind.
But say, would he leave me to mourn?
In secret to heave the fond sigh,
And would he not wish to return
To chase these sad tears from mine eye.
I flew to the casket of love,
And each dear memorial caress'd,
In vain to accuse him I strove,
Too deep was his image impress'd.
Each word was in rapturous strain,
Dictated by honour and truth;
And shall I ere dare to complain,
Till deceived by the generous youth.
But, by all the fond moments of bliss
Which oft with Eliza thou'st shar'd,
By the last dear rapturous kiss,
O let me that moment be spar'd.
When anguish shall tear my fond heart,
My eyes speak the language of love,
For ah! in that moment to part,
Too much for Eliza 'twill prove.
Nor would she ere wrong that dear breast,
On which she so often reclined,
When Damon has fondly carest,
And ne'er at his fortune repin'd.