A lover's complaint in four anapestic quatrains, signed "T. S." This lyric dispenses with the usual pastoral imagery in order to concisely develop a dramatic situation. The poetry column of this short-lived monthly periodical consisted chiefly of reprints, though this poem is presented as "For the Edinburgh Magazine."
Can the bosom of Laura be cold,
Can she falsely abandon her friend?
Can the love she so oft did unfold,
Oh can it, be now at an end?
Fair truth seem'd to beam from her eye,
Sensibility glow'd on her cheek;
And she left me, methought, with a sigh;
—But perhaps it was all a mistake.
Perhaps she but feign'd to bestow
That praise she so sweetly could give:
Perhaps — but it cannot be so,
For my Laura could never deceive.
Oh ease my fond heart of its pain,
Convince me you still can be true:
The delightful assurance again,
With engaging persuasion renew.