16
THE POEMS
Sabina's easy shape and air
With softer magic drew.
He haunts the stream, he haunts the grove,
Lives in a fond romance of love,
And seems for each to die;
Till each a little spiteful grown,
Sabina Cælia's shape ran down,
And she Sabina's eye.
Their envy made the shepherd find
Those eyes, which love could only blind;
So set the lover free:
No more he haunts the grove or stream,
Or with a true-love knot and name
Engraves a wounded tree.
Ah Cælia! sly Sabina cried,
Though neither love, we're both denied;
Now to support the sex's pride,
Let either fix the dart.
Poor girl! says Cælia, say no more;
For should the swain but one adore,
That spite which broke his chains before,
Would break the other's heart.
