Who have been faithful--to how many, dear?’ “If words had fail’d, a look explain’d their style, She could not blush assent, but she could smile. Good heaven! I thought, have I rejected fame, Credit, and wealth, for one who smiles at shame? 590 “She saw me thoughtful--saw it, as I guess’d, With some concern, though nothing she express’d. “‘Come, my dear friend, discard that look of care, All things were made to be, as all things are; All to seek pleasure as the end design’d, The only good in matter or in mind; So was I taught by one, who gave me all That my experienced heart can wisdom call. “‘I saw thee young, love’s soft obedient slave, And many a sigh to my young lover gave; 600 And I had, spite of cowardice or cow, Return’d thy passion, and exchanged my vow; But, while I thought to bait the amorous hook, One set for me my eager fancy took; There was a crafty eye, that far could see, And through my failings fascinated me: Mine was a childish wish, to please my boy; His a design, his wishes to enjoy. O! we have both about the world been tost, Thy gain I know not--I, they cry, am lost; 610 So let the wise ones talk; they talk in vain, And are mistaken both in loss and gain; ’Tis gain to get whatever life affords, ’Tis loss to spend our time in empty words. “‘I was a girl, and thou a boy wert then, Nor aught of women knew, nor I of men; But I have traffick’d in the world, and thou, Doubtless, canst boast of thy experience now; Let us the knowledge we have gain’d produce, And kindly turn it to our common use.’ 620 “Thus spoke the siren in voluptuous style, } While I stood gazing and perplex’d the while, } Chain’d by that voice, confounded by that smile. } And then she sang, and changed from grave to gay, Till all reproach and anger died away. * * * * * “‘&My Damon was the first to wake The gentle flame that cannot die; My Damon is the last to take The faithful bosom’s softest sigh: The life between is nothing worth, 630 O! cast it from thy thought away; Think of the day that gave it birth, And this its sweet returning day. “‘Buried be all that has been done, Or say that naught is done amiss; For who the dangerous path can shun In such bewildering world as this? But love can every fault forgive, Or with a tender look reprove; And now let naught in memory live, 640 But that we meet, and that we love.’” * * * * *