 | On Viol and Flute |  |
115
III. CAPTIVITY.
As I was gazing at her, well-a-day!The iron-crownëd King of Love came by,
And, ere a path of egress I could spy,
His archers shot me, and half-dead I lay;
Then, while I swooned, they bore me thence away,
And shut me in a cage to weep and sigh,
And in this dolorous dungeon I must lie,
Racked daily by Love's jailors for their play;
Nor can I ever dream to wander free,
Or lose the pangs wherewith I am opprest,
Or know the sweet repose of painless rest,
For, if I rightly read the King's decree,
Deep in the care of Love's own iron breast
The keys are hidden till Death shall seize on me.
| On Viol and Flute | |