_Harrington_ to _Worthy_.
YOU may now felicitate me—I have had an interview with the
charmer I informed you of. Alas! where were the thoughtfulness and
circumspection of my friend _Worthy_? I did not possess them, and am
graceless enough to acknowledge it. He would have considered the
consequences, before he had resolved upon the project. But you call me,
with some degree of truth, a strange medley of contradiction—the
moralist and the amoroso—the sentiment and the sensibility—are
interwoven in my constitution, so that nature and grace are at continual
fisticuffs—To the point:—
I PURSUED my determination of discovering the dwelling of my charmer,
and have at length obtained access. You may behold my Rosebud, but
should you presume to place it in your bosom, expect the force of my
wrath to be the infallible consequence.
I DECLARED the sincerity of my passion—the warmth of my affection—to the
beautiful _Harriot_—Believe me, _Jack_, she did not seem inattentive.
Her mien is elegant—her disposition inclining to the melancholy, and yet
her temper is affable, and her manners easy. And as I poured my tender
vows into the heart of my beloved, a crimson drop stole across her
cheek, and thus I construe it in my own favor, as the sweet messenger of
hope:—
“DO not wholly despair, my new friend; excuse the declaration of a poor
artless female—you see I am not perfectly contented in my
situation—(Observe, _Jack_, I have not the vanity to think this distress
_altogether_ upon my account)—Time may therefore disclose wonders, and
perhaps more to your advantage than you imagine—do not despair then.”
SUCH vulgar, uncongenial souls, as that which animates thy clay, cold
carcase, would have thought this crimson drop nothing more than an
ordinary blush. Be far removed from my heart such sordid, earth-born
ideas: But come thou spirit of celestial language, that canst
communicate by one affectionate look—one tender glance—more divine
information to the soul of sensibility than can be contained in myriads
of volumes!
HAIL gentle _God_ of _Love_! While thou rivetest the chains of thy
_slaves_, how dost thou make them leap for joy, as with delicious
_triumph_. Happy enthusiasm! that while it carries us away into
captivity, can make the heart to dance as in the bosom of content. Hail
gentle _God_ of _Love_! Encircled as thou art with darts, torments, and
ensigns of cruelty, still do we hail thee. How dost thou smooth over the
roughness and asperities of present pain, with what thou seest in
reversion! Thou banishest the _Stygian_ glooms of disquiet and suspense,
by the hope of approaching Elysium—Blessed infatuation!
I DESIRE you will not hesitate to pronounce an _amen_ to my Hymn to
Love, as an unequivocal evidence of your wish for my success.