84
SONGS.
In Beauty's empire is no mean,—
And woman, either slave or queen,
Is quickly scorned when not adored.
"Those liquid pearls from either eye,
Which might an Eastern empire buy,
Unvalued here and fruitless fall:
No art the season can renew,
When love was young, and Damon true;
No tears a wandering heart recall.
"Cease, cease to grieve; thy tears are vain,
Should those fair orbs in drops of rain
Vie with a weeping southern sky:
For hearts overcome with love and grief
All nature yields but one relief;—
Die! hapless Araminta, die!"
