The Poetical Works of the Right Hon. George Granville, Lord Lansdowne/41

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Cupid, delighting to be near her,
Charm’d to behold her, charm’d to hear her,
As he ſtood gazing on her face,
Enchanted with each matchleſs grace,
Loſt in the trance, he drops the dart,5
Which never fails to reach the heart:
She ſeizes it, and arms her hand,
“’T is thus I Love himſelf command:
Now tremble, cruel Boy!” ſhe ſaid,
“For all the miſchief you have made.”10
The god, recov’ring his ſurpriſe,
Truſts to his wings, away he flies;
Swift as an arrow cuts the wind,
And leaves his whole artillery behind.
Princeſs! reſtore the boy his uſeleſs darts,15
With ſurer charms you captivate our hearts.
Love’s captives oft their liberty regain,
Death only can releaſe us from your chain.18