The Perplexity.

Became absorb'd in this unwelcome theme;

Nay every meditation, every dream,

Th'inexplicable sentence held to view,

‘ They're not both mine,’ was every morning new:

For, till this hour, the Maid had never prov'd

How far she was enthrall'd, how much she lov'd:

In that fond character he first appear'd;

His kindness charm'd her, and his smiles endear'd:

This dubious mystery the passion crost;

Her peace was wounded, and her Lover lost.

For George, with all his resolution strove

To check the progress of his growing love;

Or, if he e'er indulg'd a tender kiss,

Th'unravell' d secret robb'd him of his bliss.

Health's foe, Suspense, so irksome to be borne,

An ever-piercing and retreating thorn,

Hung on their Hearts, when Nature bade them rise,

And stole Content's bright ensign from their eyes.