The Sports of the Genii | ||
7
THE TRIUMPH.
INDIFF'RENCE brav'd the God of Love,
And proudly bid him shoot his best;
For he his keenest shaft would prove,
And turn his Godship to a jest:
And proudly bid him shoot his best;
For he his keenest shaft would prove,
And turn his Godship to a jest:
For, drench'd in Lethe's sullen stream,
No thought return'd, the flame to feed:
No wishes paint the waking dream;
No hopes are born, nor fears succeed.
No thought return'd, the flame to feed:
No wishes paint the waking dream;
No hopes are born, nor fears succeed.
“For me, thy golden shafts prepare;
“Thy fond affections grant to me;
“I wish to know thy tender care,”—
Cry'd kneeling Sensibility.
“Thy fond affections grant to me;
“I wish to know thy tender care,”—
Cry'd kneeling Sensibility.
8
Love cares not for an easy prey:
He drew his arrow to the head:
The feather'd shaft flew swift away,
And by the chance of war it sped.
He drew his arrow to the head:
The feather'd shaft flew swift away,
And by the chance of war it sped.
Finding a vulnerable place
Close to the heart, it quickly pass'd;
Self-love had occupy'd the space,
But now was driven out at last.
Close to the heart, it quickly pass'd;
Self-love had occupy'd the space,
But now was driven out at last.
Subdued Indiff'rence now no more
Shall e'er resume his careless rest;
Nor can the Fates again restore
The ice that melted in his breast.
Shall e'er resume his careless rest;
Nor can the Fates again restore
The ice that melted in his breast.
See where, on Cupid's altar, lies
Fresh buds of Hope and fancy flow'rs;
A hecatomb of tender sighs,
And tears that fall in plenteous show'rs.
Fresh buds of Hope and fancy flow'rs;
A hecatomb of tender sighs,
And tears that fall in plenteous show'rs.
9
The laughing Loves loud clap their wings;
The Triumph gaily moving on.
Around the jocund chorus sings,
“Love's Victory is fairly won.”
The Triumph gaily moving on.
Around the jocund chorus sings,
“Love's Victory is fairly won.”
The Sports of the Genii | ||