I'll refresh thee, if thou'rt tired,
And will bathe thy weary feet;
Take whate'er by thee's desired,
Toying, rest, or rapture sweet."—
She busily seeks his feigned suff'rings to ease;
Then smiles the Immortal; with pleasure he sees
That with kindness a heart so corrupted can beat.
And he makes her act the part
Of a slave; he's straight obeyed.
What at first had been but art,
Soon is nature in the maid.
By degrees the fruit we find.
Where the buds at first obtain;
When obedience fills the mind,
Love will never far remain.
But sharper and sharper the maiden to prove,
The Discerner of all things below and above.
Feigns pleasure, and horror, and maddening pain.
And her painted cheeks he kisses,
And his vows her heart enthral;
Feeling love's sharp pangs and blisses
Soon her tears begin to fall.
At his feet she now must sink,
Not with thoughts of lust or gain,—
And her slender members shrink
And devoid of power remain.
And so the bright hours with gladness prepare
Their dark, pleasing veil of a texture so fair,
And over the couch softly, tranquilly reign.
Late she falls asleep, thus blessed,—
Early wakes, her slumbers fled,
And she finds the much-loved guest
On her bosom lying dead.
