 | 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 | |