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Now has bright Sol fulfill'd his circling course, Again to Taurus roll'd his burning car, Since, cruel Prudence, thy resistless force Tore me from happiness and Cynthia far. How did I then, or pensively complain, Or in the maniac's frantic accents rave! How often vow to prove resistance vain, And, spite of prudence, live my Cynthia's slave! Her much-lov'd form did every thought employ; My daily wish she was, and nightly dream; My aking bosom hop'd no dearer joy; My raptur'd fancy own'd no nobler theme. No more I wish'd, where Isis' clear waves flow, To pluck fresh laurels from the muse's shade: I long'd to climb the Cambrian mountain's brow, Since Cambria's mountains hid my favorite maid. In vain from cruel love's tyrannic reign To friendship and to wisdom I appeal; For such my sufferings, that the amorous pain Nor wisdom could assuage, nor friendship heal. Now three revolving moons had roll'd away, Still faded sorrow bent my drooping head; In slothful rest my nobler passions lay, Each fire extinguish'd, and each virtue dead: When forced to seek a more laborious field, And mingle chearful with a social train, To toil and mirth those woes began to yield, Which thought and care had combated in vain. In other scenes I now delight could find, And, far from Cynthia, found my heart at rest; Till love at length the dubious strife declin'd, And reason fix'd her empire in my breast. Then, as by sacred truth's unflattering light, I saw the follies of my former flame, I turn'd indignant from the hateful sight, Struck with remorse, and mortified with shame. I found imagination's magic wand Had all my Cynthia's dazzling charms supplied, And love, misjudging love, with partial hand, Had given those beauties nature's touch denied. A visionary shape my Fancy drew, In the fair form each polish'd grace display'd; Then like the fabled artist amorous grew, And lov'd the image which itself had made.
Henry James Pye's other poems:
Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1099
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