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STRÈ PAON when you see me fly
Let not this your fear create,
Maids may be as often shy
Out of love as out of hate;
When from you I fly away,
It is because I dare not stay.
Did I out of hatred run
Less you'd be my pain and care ; But the youth I love, tò shun,
Who can such a trial bear? Who that such a swain did see Who could love and fly like me?
Cruel duty bids me go,
Gentle love commands me stay; Duty's still to love a foe,
Shall I this or that obey? Duty frowns, and Cupid smiles, That defends, and this beguiles.
Ever by these crystal streams
I could sit and hear thee sigh, Ravish'd with these pleasing dreams
O'tis worse than death to fly:
But the danger is so great
Fear gives wings, instead of hate.
Strephon, if you love me, leave me,
If you stay I am undone ;
Oh! with ease you may
Prithee, charming swain, be gone.
Heav'n decrees that we should part,
That has my vows, but you my heart.
When first I saw thee graceful move
me, what meant my throbbing breast? Say, soft confusion, art thou love?
If love thou art, then farewell rest!
Since doom'd I am to love thee, fair,
Tho' hopeless of a warm return, Yet kill me not with cold despair,
But let me live, and let me burn.
With gentle smiles asswage the pain
Those gentle smiles did first create; And, tho' you cannot love again,
In pity, oh ! forbear to hate.
ow see my Goddess, earthly born.
With smiling looks, and sparkling eyes,
And with a bloom that shames the morn
New risen in the eastern skies !
Furnish'd from Nature's boundless store,
And one of pleasure's laughing train,
Stranger to all the wise explore,
She proves all far-sought knowledge vain.
Untaught as Venus, when she found
Herself first floating on the sea,
And laughing begg'd the Tritons round
For shame to look some other way.
And unaccomplish'd all as Eve
In the first morning of her life,
When Adam blush'd, and ask'd her leave
To take her hand, and call her wife.
Yet there is something in her face,
Tho' she's unread in Plato's lore,
Might bring e'en Plato to disgrace,
For leaving precepts taught before.
* This Song is designed as a contrast to an Address to Wisdom.
And there is magic in her eye,
Tho' she's unskill'd to conjure down
The pale moon from th' affrighted sky,
Would draw Endymion from the moon.
And there are words that she can speak,
Most easy to be understood,
More sweet than all the Heathen Greek
By Helen spoke, when Paris woo'd.
And she has raptures in her pow'r,
More worth than all the flatt'ring claim
Of learning's unsubstantial dow'r,
In present praise or future fame.
Let me but kiss her soft warm hand,
And let me whisper in her ear
What Knowledge would not understand,
And Wisdom would disdain to hear.
And let her listen to my tale,
And let one smiling blush arise,
Blest omen that my vows prevail !
I'll scorn the scorn of all the wise.
'Tis not the liquid brightness of those eyes,
That swim with pleasure and delight;
Nor those fair heavenly arches which arise
O'er each of them to shade their light;
'Tis not that air which plays with every wind,
And loves to wanton round thy face;
Now straying o'er thy forehead, now behind
Retiring with insidious grace.
'Tis not that lovely range of teeth, as white
As new shorn sheep, equal and fair ;
Nor even that gentle smile, the heart's delight,
With which no smile could e'er compare ;
'Tis not that chin so round, that neck so fine,
Those breasts that swell to meet my love ;
That easy sloping waist, that form divine,
Nor aught below, nor aught above.
'Tis not the living colours over each,
By nature's finest pencil wrought,
To shame the fresh blown rose, and blooming peach,
And mock the happiest painters thought :
But 'tis that gentle mind, that ardent love,
So kindly answering my desire ;
[move, That grace with which you look, and speak, and That thus have set my soul on fire.