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And, sighing to the lonely taper, pours
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Meant for the moving messenger of love;
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Where rapture burns on rapture, every line
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With rising frenzy fired. But if on bed
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Delirious flung, sleep from his pillow flies.
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All night he tosses, nor the balmy power
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In any posture finds; till the grey morn
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Exhausted nature sinks a while to rest,
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Still interrupted by distracted dreams,
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That over the sick imagination rise,
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And in black colours paint the mimic scene.
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Just as he, credulous, his thousand cares
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Begins to lose in blind oblivious love,
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Snatched from her yielded hand, he knows not how,
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With desolation brown, he wanders waste,
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In night and tempest wrapped; or shrinks aghast,
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Back, from the bending precipice; or wades
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The turbid stream below, and strives to reach
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Wild as a Bacchanal she spreads her arms,
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But strives in vain, born by the outrageous flood
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Then a weak, wailing lamentable cry
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Is heard, and all in tears he wakes, again
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To tread the circle of revolving woe.
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These are the charming agonies of love,
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Whose misery delights. But through the heart
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Should jealousy its venom once diffuse,
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It's then delightful misery no more,
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But agony unmixed, incessant rage,
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Love's paradise. You fairy prospects then
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You beds of roses, and you bowers of joy,
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Internal vision taints, and in a night
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Of livid gloom imagination wraps.
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Of funny features, and of ardent eyes
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A clouded aspect, and a burning cheek,
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Where the whole poisoned soul, malignant, sits,
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And frightens love away. Ten thousand fears
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Invented wild, ten thousand frantic views
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Of horrid rivals, hanging on the charms
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For which he melts in fondness, eat him up
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With fervent anguish, and consuming pine.
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Deceitful pride, and resolution frail,
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Giving a moment's ease. Reflection pours,
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Afresh, her beauties on his busy thought,
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Strait the fierce storm involves his mind anew,
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Flames through the nerves, and boils along the veins;
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While anxious doubt distracts the tortured heart;
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For even the sad assurance of his fears
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Were peace to what he feels. Thus the warm youth,
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Whom love deludes into his thorny wilds,
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His brightest aims extinguished all, and all
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His lively moments running down to waste.
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BUT happy they! the happiest of their kind!
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Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate
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Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend.
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It's not the coarser tie of human laws,
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Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind,
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That binds their peace, but harmony itself,
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Perfect esteem enlivened by desire
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Ineffable, and sympathy of soul,
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Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will,
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Can answer love, and render bliss secure.
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To bless himself, from sordid parents buys
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The loathing virgin, in eternal care,
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Let barbarous nations, whose inhuman love
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Is wild desire, fierce as the suns they feel;
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Let eastern tyrants from the light of heaven
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Of a mere, lifeless, violated form:
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And equal transport, free as nature, live,
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Disdaining fear; for what's the world to them,
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Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all!
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Who in each other clasp whatever fair
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High fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish,
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Something than beauty dearer, should they look
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The richest bounty of indulgent HEAVEN.
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Meantime a smiling Offspring rises round,
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And mingles both their graces. By degrees,
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The human blossom blows; and every day,
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Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm,
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The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom.
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Then infant reason grows apace, and calls
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For the kind hand of an assiduous care:
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Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,
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To teach the young idea how to shoot,
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To pour the fresh instruction over the mind,
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To breathe the inspiring spirit, and to plant
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The generous purpose in the glowing breast.
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O speak the joy! you whom the sudden tear
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Surprises often, while you look around,
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And nothing strikes your eye but sights of bliss,
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All various nature pressing on the heart,
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Obedient fortune, and approving HEAVEN.
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And thus their moments fly. The seasons thus,
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Still find them happy; and consenting SPRING
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Sheds her own rosy garland on their head:
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Till evening comes at last, cool, gentle, calm;
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When after the long vernal day of life,
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Together, down they sink in social sleep.
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AH, Love! ere yet I knew thy fatal power,
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As on the sultry zone the torrid rays,
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Calm was my bosom as this silent hour,
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