Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
203 . Sylvander to Clarinda
W
First struck Sylvander’s raptur’d view,
He gaz’d, he listened to despair,
Alas! ’twas all he dared to do.
Transfixed his bosom thro’ and thro’; But still in Friendships’ guarded guise, For more the demon fear’d to do. The imp beleaguer’d all perdue; For frowning Honour kept his post— To meet that frown, he shrunk to do. Tho’ half he wish’d Clarinda knew; But Anguish wrung the unweeting groan— Who blames what frantic Pain must do? Was sternly still to Honour true: To prove Clarinda’s fondest friend, Was what a lover sure might do. No nearer bliss he could pursue; That bliss Clarinda cold deny’d— “Send word by Charles how you do!” Till passion all impatient grew: He wrote, and hinted for excuse, ’Twas, ’cause “he’d nothing else to do.” And by those faults I dearly rue! The deed, the boldest mark of love, For thee that deed I dare uo do! Would bless me with your charms and you! With frantic joy I’d pay it thrice, If human art and power could do! (Friendship, at least, I may avow;) And lay no more your chill command,— I’ll write whatever I’ve to do.