 | Leucothoe |  |
11
SCENE II.
Phoebusdescends the mountain, a symphony playing. The machine sinks.
“Hail! to love, delicious boy,
“Hail! to love, and welcome joy:”
Love, the best, the only treasure,
Love, that laughs at proud degree,
Love, that renders pain a pleasure,
And by enslaving makes us free.
“Hail! to love, and welcome joy:”
Love, the best, the only treasure,
Love, that laughs at proud degree,
Love, that renders pain a pleasure,
And by enslaving makes us free.
When Heav'n to woman beauty did dispense,
It gave away its own omnipotence.
High 'mongst the pow'rs above, enthron'd I sit,
I'm stiled the God of Wisdom, and of Wit;
This arm alone Light's fiery steeds can rein.
Oh force, how impotent! oh boast, how vain!
Incapable to curb my own desires.
What's strength, or wisdom's use, when love inspires?
Unseen, resistless, it impels us on;
No force can tame it, nor can prescience shun,
And, ere we dread the danger, we're undone.
It gave away its own omnipotence.
High 'mongst the pow'rs above, enthron'd I sit,
I'm stiled the God of Wisdom, and of Wit;
This arm alone Light's fiery steeds can rein.
Oh force, how impotent! oh boast, how vain!
Incapable to curb my own desires.
What's strength, or wisdom's use, when love inspires?
Unseen, resistless, it impels us on;
No force can tame it, nor can prescience shun,
And, ere we dread the danger, we're undone.
| Leucothoe | |