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28

II. To DELIA.

While mortal strains avail to bless
The lingering moments of distress—
While taste refined and polish'd ease,
And grace and matchless beauty please;
So long th' enraptured muse shall raise
To Delia's name the song of praise!
O, never, never, (since she fled,
For whom my bosom fondly bled,
For whom with unabating fire
My fervid lips still breathe desire)
More cruel seem'd time's swift career
Than when thy voice entranced my ear;
When wasting magic bliss around,
The harp awoke a plaintive sound;
When Delia's converse lull'd my woes,
And sorrow felt a short repose.

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A short repose—no mortal strain
Can dissipate the rage of pain.