4. A SONG, TO AMORET.
1
Let not a tear thus stain thy cheek,
Which glows a purple flame;
Nor yet thy swelling bosom speak
This mighty lust of fame:
Methinks 'tis lovely woman's due,
To triumph in our glory too.
2
Did not the soft Egyptian queen,
Whom great Antonius lov'd,
Appear at Actium's fatal scene,
In peril, unreprov'd?
If, trembling, then from fate she fled,
Love o'er her fault his veil hath shed.
3
Did not the blooming Sappho oft
Awake the chorded shell,
Her murm'ring bliss, and passion soft,
To other maids to tell?
And bade them fly disastrous love,
Or Phaon's scorn themselves might prove?
4
These two mix'd glory with their love,
As of a soul divine,
All other women far above,
Till thou on Earth did'st shine;
In whose soft beauty we discern,
How Venus makes Olympus burn.
5
Then let not silver tears upon
Thy panting bosom fall;
Nor grief disturb that marble throne,
My life, my world, my all!
As thou from guilty thoughts art free,
So pure be thy felicity!
6
Let rosy garlands crown thy head,
Thy cup the ruby wine;
The passion, that thy lips have fed,
Shall make my love divine:
Thou in this happy verse shalt be
The darling of futurity!
