 each fond Remembrance of the past?
Can that blest Rival censure one sad Sigh,
One transient Tear to me and Misery?
Read; nor with cold Severity reprove
Th' unconquer'd Struggles of distracted Love:
Grant one last Look of Comfort to my Grief,
One sympathetic Strain of sad Relief;
Then all my Woes in dark Oblivion drown,
And yield thy Soul to Bliss and Corydon.
Curst be the Hour!—No—be it ever blest,
When first thy Beauty struck my'astonish'd Breast.
The wild Luxuriance of thine auburn Hair,
Thy Mien majestic, Face divinely fair,
Seem'd like th' ideal Phantom of a Dream:
I saw, I wonder'd, but could not esteem.
Vile Prejudice with bigotted Controul
Check'd every nobler Feeling of my Soul:

Still in my Ear base Slander whisper'd Lies,
Beheld Vivacity, and nam'd it Vice;
Did any dare applaud your Wit or Sense,
'Twas sneering Satire all and Impudence.—
Gods, how I err'd! could I thus grossly Sin,
Or think so fair a Form so foul within!
Thus think of her, whose Virtues now I see,
And Honour almost to Idolatry!
Yet how sincerely I bewail'd my Crimes,
And curst th' unfeeling Malice of the Times,
Curst my weak Heart, that could so soon believe
Such Excellence was made but to deceive;
Bear witness Heav'n! and thou, fair Maid, forgive!
For whom alone I can endure to live;
Forgive this Error, 'tis my last Request;
Then welcome Solitude, my Mind's at rest.
Scarce had three Suns their daily Circuit ran,
And the fourth Morn reveal'd its Light to Man,
When with full Radiance on my dazzled Sense
Beam'd forth the Wonders of your Excellence.
There, veil'd in all the Sprightliness of Youth,
Sat meek-eyed Modesty and honest Truth;
There calm Religion reign'd with sweet Controul;
The Sanctity of Thought and Snow of Soul
Their heav'n descended Influence there combin'd,
To prove thy Face less beauteous than thy Mind.

Slander beheld, and shudd'ring with Affright,
Plung'd headlong 'midst the Shades of endless Night.
Ah me! whilst yet I breath my mournful Strain,
Fresh Woes arise, and aggravate my Pain.
Fix'd in my tortur'd Mind's distracted Waste
Sits Memory, 'tween the present and the past
Forming dire Parallels: how erst among
The shadowing Grove's dark gloom we rov'd along;
