} “So thought the maid, who now, beyond the stile, Received her champion with a gracious smile; Who now had leisure on those charms to dwell, That he could never from his thought expel. There are, I know, to whom a lover seems, Praising his mistress, to relate his dreams; But, Richard, looks like those, that angel-face Could I no more in sister-angel trace; 300 O! it was more than fancy! it was more } Than in my darling views I saw before, } When I my idol made, and my allegiance swore. } “Henceforth ’twas bliss upon that face to dwell, Till every trace became indelible; I bless’d the cause of that alarm, her fright, And all that gave me favour in her sight, Who then was kind and grateful, till my mind, Pleased and exulting, awe awhile resign’d. For in the moment when she feels afraid, } 310 How kindly speaks the condescending maid; } She sees her danger near, she wants her lover’s aid. } As fire electric, when discharged, will strike All who receive it, and they feel alike, So in the shock of danger and surprise Our minds are struck, and mix, and sympathise. “But danger dies, and distance comes between My state and that of my all glorious queen; Yet much was done--upon my mind a chain Was strongly fix’d, and likely to remain; 320 Listening, I grew enamour’d of the sound, And felt to her my very being bound; I bless’d the scene, nor felt a power to move, Lost in the ecstacies of infant-love. “She saw and smiled; the smile delight convey’d, My love encouraged, and my act repaid. In that same smile I read the charmer meant To give her hero chaste encouragement; It spoke, as plainly as a smile can speak, ‘Seek whom you love, love freely whom you seek.’ 330 “Thus, when the lovely witch had wrought her charm, She took th’ attendant maiden by the arm, And left me fondly gazing, till no more I could the shade of that dear form explore; Then to my secret haunt I turn’d again, Fire in my heart, and fever in my brain; That face of her for ever in my view, } Whom I was henceforth fated to pursue, } To hope I knew not what--small hope in what I knew. } “O! my dear Richard, what a waste of time 340 Gave I not thus to lunacy sublime; What days, months, years, (to useful purpose lost) Has not this dire infatuation cost? To this fair vision I, a [bonded] slave, Time, duty, credit, honour, comfort, gave; Gave all--and waited for the glorious things That hope expects, but fortune never brings. Yet let me own, while I my fault reprove, There is one blessing still affix’d to love-- To love like mine--for, as my soul it drew 350