What's That to Me?

THE blue Clouds from the Skies are fled,
And Vapours cap the Mountain's Head;
The Lord of Day resigns his reign,
While Twilight ushers in her Train.
But, what's all this to me?

By Shepherds whistl'ing o'er the Wold,
The tink'ling Flocks are drove to fold;
Her brimming Pail the Milk-maid bears,
And hears her Love, or think she hears—
Yet, what's all this to me?

From reeking Pools the Steams ascend,
Tall leafy Trees their shades extend;
Evening appears in matron grey,
And puts to blush the rakish Day.
Still, what's all this to me?

The flow'ry Beds have lost their bloom,
The verdant Grove's conceal'd in gloom,
The Landscapes die upon the sight,
And chilly spreads the veil of Night.
Well! what's all this to me?

Tho' dismal birds begin to prowl,
The slitting Bat, the hooting Owl;
And Gloworms glimmer feeble rays,
The link-boys of the lightfoot Fays,
Why, what's all this to me?

Yes, yes, 'in truth, for when 'twas dark,
A light I 'spy'd, and bless'd the mark;—
I hemm'd, and quick the casement op'd,
How leap'd my heart, my search was stopp'd.
And, that was much to me.

"Hist, (cries my fair one) softly creep,
"The old folks are both fast asleep,
"Lord! how our House-dog makes a din!
"But I'll steal down, and let you in."
Now, what do you think of me?

When safe we met, few words were said,
For fear by voice to be betray'd;—
what was done I will not say,
'Twas Love look'd on, and bid us play.
But, what is that to thee?

Love's raptur'd Rites are secret Joys,
Profan'd by Sots and babbling Boys;
But we Initiates never boast,
Fidelity's our general Toast.
Here's that my Friend to thee.