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31

IV. To JULIA.

This curious eye that oft unfolds
The secret shades of mind,
In thee, with ravish'd beam, beholds
A maid from vice refined!
Soft as thy soul, thy gentle mien
Bespeaks a spotless breast:
The storms that cloud life's dreary scene
Have spared the seat of rest.
No roving wish thy glance betrays,
Nor darts malignant fire,
Thy modest smile disdains to raise
The tumult of desire.
No restless thoughts by envy fed,
Assert their fierce controul,
Inflame thy cheek with guilty red,
Or rudely rend thy soul.

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To these dire foes the powers of truth
Afford a firm defence,
Bright guardians of thine artless youth,
Thy maiden innocence.
Thee, Julia, virtue's pure-ey'd train,
Thee love himself reveres;
And when to bless th' exulting plain,
Thy tranquil form appears.
With soften'd radiance beaming sweet,
The light of beauty breaks;
Nor scorches with meridian heat
The lillies of thy cheeks.
Calm'd at thy presence, smoothly glide
The troubled streams of woe,
And gloomy terror's frantic tide
Awhile forgets to flow.
How oft since Laura's bitter scorn
Stole all my joys away,
And gave my heart by passion torn
To fierce despair a prey;

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Thy chasten'd look, thy melting eye,
Thy voice that breathes delight,
Have bade grief's frowning spectre fly,
And chear'd the gloom of night!
For thee my willing muse should pour
The flood of verse along,
For thee on daring pinions soar
Amid the blaze of song:
But Laura from my sleeping lyre
Hath torn the sweetest string;
And hopeless love's consuming fire
Hath scorch'd the muse's wing.