To Caroline

To Caroline

I gaze upon that lovely cheek,

By beauty's seal imprest,

But dare not let my glances speak

The love that thrills my breast;

For ah! too well, too well I know

Thou never canst be mine;

I gaze - and tears unbidden flow

Yea, tears, my Caroline!

I love thee! - let me write the word

And yet how weak! how vain!

By thee the tale shall ne'er be heard,

By me be breathed again

I would not cause they bosom true

One moment to repine;

No, by the wealth of rich Peru,

I would not Caroline!

I saw thee first in better days,

And then they beauty's dye,

Thy worth, that shrunk from every gaze,

And yet charmed every eye;

These in my breast the love awoke

Which never can decline

No - till this throbbing heart is broke,

'Twill love thee, Caroline!

Called from my native home awhile

Across the stormy main,

Another suitor won thy smile,

And I returned - in vain!

Not thee - but Fate - my words reprove,

For ne're a sigh of mine

Disclosed to listening ear the love

I bear for Caroline.

May he who has they plighted vow

Ne'er slight this happy lot -

Because he loves I hate him now,

How deeply should he not!

But no; till those who dwell in heaven

For earthly joys repine,

Can he prove false to whom is given

The love of Caroline.

Oh! couldst thou but as happy prove

As thou deservest to be,

I do not but the saints above,

Themselves might envy thee;

Yon moon to which I turn my eyes,

On fairest forms may shine,

But, in her circuit through the skies,

None sweet as Caroline.

Farewell! within my bosom deep

The love I bear for thee

Shall sleep - but no! it cannot sleep

Till I have ceas'd to be:

And when at length beneath the sod

This aching frame recline,

My soul ascending to its God,

Shall pray for Caroline.

Mr. Canning

1:37, p. 148

1827.11.23

The following Stanza, from a recent London paper, have been spoken of as a youthful effusion from the pen of the late Premier of England.