62
POEMS.
And as She past, oft cropt some drooping flower,
Whose beauties bloomed unmarked in sunless bower,
Till plucked by Her, then first perceived the eye,
Its form how graceful, and how rich its dye.
As on She moved, Want, Sorrow, Pain, and Care
Fled from her glance, and sought less sacred air.
Soothed by her voice, inveterate Malice poured
His arrows at her feet, and broke his sword.
Deep Slumber bound the Passions' stormy train;
No more did Slander hiss, or hissed in vain:
And where that Matron's hallowed step once trod,
Envy herself with flowers oft drest the sod.
Whose beauties bloomed unmarked in sunless bower,
Till plucked by Her, then first perceived the eye,
Its form how graceful, and how rich its dye.
As on She moved, Want, Sorrow, Pain, and Care
Fled from her glance, and sought less sacred air.
Soothed by her voice, inveterate Malice poured
His arrows at her feet, and broke his sword.
Deep Slumber bound the Passions' stormy train;
No more did Slander hiss, or hissed in vain:
And where that Matron's hallowed step once trod,
Envy herself with flowers oft drest the sod.
With awful hope I gazed, while near She drew,
And from her bow! on my parched forehead threw
Some opiate drops.—Oh! then how swift my soul
Cast off her burthen! Grateful languor stole
O'er all my frame, and soon my temples round
Sleep with soft hand her wreath of poppies bound.
And from her bow! on my parched forehead threw
Some opiate drops.—Oh! then how swift my soul
Cast off her burthen! Grateful languor stole
O'er all my frame, and soon my temples round
Sleep with soft hand her wreath of poppies bound.
