80
SONGS.
And firſt confeſs'd your ſway;
And e'er your thoughts, devoid of art,
Could learn the value of a heart,
I gave my heart away.
I watch'd the dawn of every grace,
And gaz'd upon that angel face,
While yet 'twas ſafe to gaze;
And fondly bleſs'd each riſing charm,
Nor thought ſuch innocence could harm
The peace of future days.
But now deſpotic o'er the plains
The awful noon of beauty reigns,
And kneeling crowds adore;
Theſe charms ariſe too fiercely bright,
Danger and death attend the ſight,
And I muſt hope no more.
Thus
