I sought thee not, O Love! wherefore
Torment me with advances rude?
I've shunned thee as a dangerous power,
And Pallas only have I sued.
Not but I know thy witching spell,
The richest gift to mortals known;
But soon I learned to know too well.
Oft where thou art, there peace has flown
Nor must the toiler, who would fight
Through strife and care his rugged way
Aspire to e'en thy blandest light,
For such burns not thy genial ray.
Thus, Love, I tried to close my breast
To all the whisperings of thy tongue.
Or, forced at length by thy behest,
Woo'd Fancy's pictured scenes among.