But when circled in thy arms, As I’m panting o’er thy charms, O’er thy cheeks of rosy bloom, O’er thy lips that breathe perfume, O’er thine eyes so sweetly bright, Shedding soft expressive light,— Then, nor cheeks of rosy bloom, Nor thy lips that breathe perfume, Nor thine eyes’ expressive light, Bless thy lover’s envious sight; Nor that soothing smile, which cheers All his tender hopes and fears: For, as radiant Phœbus streams O’er the globe with placid beams, Whirling through the ethereal way The fiery-axled car of day, And from the tempestuous sky While the rapid coursers fly, All the stormy clouds are driven Which deformed the face of heaven So thy golden smile, my fair, Chases every amorous care; Dries the torrents of mine eyes; Calms my fond, tumultuous sighs. Oh! how emulous the strife ’Twixt my lips and eyes, sweet life! Of thy charms are these possest, Those are envious till they’re blest: Think not, then, that in my love I’ll be rivalled e’en by Jove, When such jealous conflicts rise ’Twixt my very lips and eyes. KISS VIII. Ah! what ungoverned rage, declare, Neæra, too capricious fair, What unrevenged, unguarded wrong, Could urge thee thus to wound my tongue? Perhaps you deem the afflictive pains Too trifling, which my heart sustains, Nor think enough my bosom smarts With all the sure, destructive darts Incessant sped from every charm, That thus your wanton teeth must harm, Must harm that little tuneful thing, Which wont so oft thy praise to sing, What time the morn has streaked the skies, Or evening’s faded radiance dies, Through painful days consuming slow, Through lingering nights of amorous woe. This tongue, thou know’st, has oft extolled Thy hair in shining ringlets rolled; Thine eyes with tender passion bright; Thy swelling breast of purest white; Thy taper neck of polished grace; And all the beauties of thy face; Beyond the lucid orbs above, Beyond the starry throne of Jove; Extolled them in such lofty lays That gods with envy heard the praise. Oft has it called thee every name Which boundless rapture taught to frame; My life! my joy! my soul’s desire! All that my wish could e’er require! My pretty Venus! and my love! My gentle turtle! and my dove! Till Cypria’s self with envy heard Each partial, each endearing word.