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22

LOVE.

WRITTEN IN 1800.

Sweet power of Love! no idle fluttering boy
Art thou, to flaunt with brilliant purple wing,
And from thy bow, in merry mischief, fling
The tiny shafts which mortal peace destroy.
'Tis thine the sickness of the soul to heal,
When pines the lonely bosom, doom'd to know
No dear associate of its joy or woe,
Till, warm'd by thee, it learns again to feel.
As the bright sun-beam bids the rose unrol
Her scented leaves, that sleep in many a fold,
Thou wak'st the heart from selfish slumbers cold,
To all the generous softness of the soul.
Ah doubly blest the heart that wakes to prove
From some congenial breast the dear return of Love!