And rages still, the madd'ning power—
His parching flames my wither'd heart devour;
Wild Phrensy comes my senses o'er,
Sweet Peace is fled, and Reason rules no more.
Bland.
Chæremon. (Book xiii. § 87, p. 970.)
One to the silver lustre of the moon,
In graceful, careless, attitude reclined,
Display'd her snowy bosom, full unzoned
In all its naked loveliness: another
Led up the sprightly dance; and as she moved,
Her loose robes gently floating, the light breeze
Lifted her vest, and to the enraptured eye
Uncover'd her left breast. Gods! what a sight!
What heavenly whiteness! breathing and alive,
A swelling picture!—This from eyelids dark
Beam'd forth a ray of such celestial light,
As dazzled whilst it charm'd. A fourth appear'd,
Her beauties half uncover'd, and display'd
Her delicate arm, and taper fingers, small,
And round, and white as polish'd ivory.
Another yet, with garment loosely thrown
Across her neck and shoulders; as she moved,
The am'rous zephyrs drew aside her robe,
Exposed her pliant limbs, full, round, and fair,
Such as the Paphian Goddess might have own'd.
Love smiled at my surprise, shook his light wings,
And mark'd me for his victim.—Others threw
Their careless limbs upon the bank bedeck'd
With odoriferous herbs, and blossoms rare,
Such as the earth produced from Helen's tears,
The violet with dark leaves, the crocus too,
That gave a warm tint to their flowing robes,
And marjoram sweet of Persia rear'd its head
To deck the verdant spot.—Anon.
