Fine are my Delia's tresses as the threads That from the silk-worm, SELF-INTERR'D, proceed; Fine as the GLEAMY GOSSAMER that spreads His filmy net-work o'er the tangled mead. Yet with these tresses Cupid's power, elate, My captive HEART has HANDCUFF'D in a chain, Strong as the cables of some huge first-rate, THAT BEARS BRITANNIA'S THUNDERS O'ER THE MAIN. The SYLPHS that round her radiant locks repair, In FLOWING LUSTER bathe their bright'ning wings; And ELFIN MINSTRELS with assiduous care, The ringlets rob for FAIRY FIDDLESTRINGS. III. THE POET RELATES HOW HE STOLE A LOCK OF DELIA S HAIR, AND HER ANGER. Oh! be the day accurst that gave me birth! Ye Seas! to swallow me, in kindness rise! Fall on me, mountains! and thou merciful earth, Open, and hide me from my Delia's eyes. Let universal Chaos now return, Now let the central fires their prison burst, And EARTH, and HEAVEN, and AIR, and OCEAN burn, For Delia FROWNS. She FROWNS, and I am curst. Oh! I could dare the fury of the fight, Where hostile MILLIONS sought my single life; Would storm VOLCANOES, BATTERIES, with delight, And grapple with Grim Death in glorious strife. Oh! I could brave the bolts of angry Jove, When ceaseless lightnings fire the midnight skies; What is HIS WRATH to that of HER I love? What is his LIGHTNING to my Delia's eyes? Go, fatal lock! I cast thee to the wind; Ye SERPENT CURLS, ye POISON TENDRILS, go! Would I could tear thy memory from my mind, ACCURSED LOCK; thou cause of all my woe! Seize the CURST CURLS, ye Furies, as they fly! Demons of darkness, guard the infernal roll, That thence your cruel vengeance, when I die, May KNIT THE KNOTS OF TORTURE FOR MY SOUL. Last night--Oh hear me, heaven, and grant my prayer! The BOOK OF FATE before thy suppliant lay, And let me from its ample records tear ONLY THE SINGLE PAGE OF YESTERDAY! Or let me meet OLD TIME upon his flight, And I will STOP HIM on his restless way; Omnipotent in love's resistless might, I'LL FORCE HIM BACK THE ROAD OF YESTERDAY. Last night, as o'er the page of love's despair, My Delia bent DELICIOUSLY to grieve, I stood a TREACHEROUS LOITERER by her chair, And drew the FATAL SCISSORS from my sleeve: And would at that instant o'er my thread The SHEARS OF ATROPOS had opened then; And when I reft the lock from Delia's head, Had cut me sudden from the sons of men! She heard the scissors that fair lock divide, And while my heart with transport parted big, She cast a FURY frown on me, and cried, "You stupid puppy--you have spoiled my wig!" [Illustration: WILLIS]