To a Young Lady, Who Spent the Night in Tears

WHO SPENT THE NIGHT IN TEARS, UPON A REPORT THAT HER BROTHER WAS TO FIGHT A DUEL NEXT MORNING .

P ASTORA weeps, let every lover mourn;
Her grief is no less fatal than her scorn:
Those shining orbs inflict an equal pain,
O'erflown with tears, or pointed with disdain.
When doubts and fears invade that tender breast,
Where peace and joy and love should ever rest,
As flow'rs depriv'd of the sun's genial ray,
Earthward we bend, and silently decay;
In spite of all philosophy can do
Our hearts relent, the bursting torrents flow;
We feel her pains, and propagate her woe.
Each mournful Muse laments the weeping Fair,
The Graces all their comely tresses tear,
Love drags his wings, and droops his little head;
And Venus mourns, as for Adonis dead.
Patience, dear maid! nor without cause complain;
O! lavish not those precious drops in vain:
Under the shield of your prevailing charms
Your happy brother lives secure from harms,
Your bright resemblance all my rage disarms.
Your influence unable to withstand,
The conscious steel drops from my trembling hand;
Low at your feet the guilty weapon lies,
The foe repents, and the fond lover dies.
Æneas thus by men and gods pursued,
Feeble with wounds, defil'd with dust and blood,
Beauty's bright goddess interpos'd her charms,
And sav'd the hopes of Trov from Grecian arms.