She never knew the city damsel's art,
Whose frothy pertness charms the vacant heart.
My suit prevail'd! for love inform'd my tongue,
And on his votary's lips persuasion hung. 450
Her eyes with conscious sympathy withdrew,
And o'er her cheek the rosy current flew.
Thrice happy hours! where with no dark allay
Life's fairest sunshine gilds the vernal day;
For here the sigh that soft affection heaves,
From stings of sharper woe the soul relieves:
Elysian scenes! too happy long to last,
Too soon a storm the smiling dawn o'ercast;
Too soon some demon to my father bore
The tidings that his heart with anguish tore. 460
My pride to kindle, with dissuasive voice
Awhile he labour'd to degrade my choice:
Then, in the whirling wave of pleasure, sought
From its loved object to divert my thought.
With equal hope he might attempt to bind
In chains of adamant the lawless wind;
For love had aim'd the fatal shaft too sure,
Hope fed the wound, and absence knew no cure.
With alienated look, each art he saw
Still baffled by superior nature's law. 470
His anxious mind on various schemes revolved,
At last on cruel exile he resolved;
The rigorous doom was fix'd; alas, how vain
To him of tender anguish to complain!
His soul, that never love's sweet influence felt,
By social sympathy could never melt: