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 I. 
 II. 
SONG II. THE CAPTIVE.
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142

SONG II. THE CAPTIVE.

Yes, he is blest, who for the fair
Heaves not the fond impassion'd sigh;
Who heeds not beauty, shape, or air,
Nor knows the language of the eye.
But pity to the wretch is due,
Who, love-beguil'd, still loves in vain;
Who seems a phantom to pursue,
Yet, hope-inspir'd, pursues with pain:
Whose looks betray the bursting heart,
That vainly pants for liberty:
Death only takes the mourner's part,
Who sets the wearied Captive free.