University of Virginia Library


52

AIR XXVII.

[_]

Tune, “Past one o'Clock.”

How mild, in this ruby, pale Chastity flushes;
And tinctures with crimson her form of light!
Unconscious of guilt;—at her beauty she blushes,
And wraps each proportion, and charm from sight.
All hush'd as rock'd infants, all sweet as the folding rose,
Her lips, with reluctance, the balm of her breath disclose!
Her eyes look abash'd at their brightness, yet still she shews
Brighter by veiling whate'er is bright!