SHOULD I the language of my heart conceal,
Nor warmly paint the passion that I feel;
My rising wish should groundless fears confine,
And doubts ungenerous chill the glowing line;
Would not my prince, with nobler warmth, disdain
That love, as languid, which could stoop to feign?
Let guilt dissemble — in my faithful breast
Love reigns unblam'd, and be that love confest.
I give my bosom naked to thy view,
For, what has shame with innocence to do?
In fancy, now, I clasp thee to my heart,
Exchange my vows, and all my joys impart.
I catch new transport from thy speaking eye; —
But whence this sad involuntary sigh?
Why pants my bosom with intruding fears?
Why, from my eyes, distil unbidden tears?
Why do my hands thus tremble as I write?
Why fades thy lov'd idea from my sight?
O! art thou safe on Britain's happy shore,
From winds that bellow, and from seas that roar?
And has my prince — (Oh, more than mortal pain!)
Betray'd by ruffians, felt the captive's chain?
Bound were those limbs, ordain'd alone to prove
The toils of empire, and the sweets of love?
Hold, hold! Barbarians of the fiercest kind!
Fear Heaven's red lightning — 'tis a prince ye bind;
A prince, whom no indignities could hide,
They knew, presumptuous! and the gods defied.
Where-e'er he moves, let love-join'd reverence rise,
And all mankind behold with Zara's eyes!