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THE TRIUMPHS


An early succour gain'd from secret Love,
From the fell kite to snatch the falling dove.
As Nature studies, in her wide domain,
To blend some antidote with every bane;
Thus her kind aid the friendly power contriv'd,
That, from the quarter whence the wound arrived,
There flow'd, the anguish of that wound to calm,
A soothing, soft, and medicinal balm.
As in her agitated hand the fair
Wav'd the loose paper with disorder'd air,
In capitals she saw Serena flame:
She blush'd, she shudder'd, as she viewed the name;
Her ready fears subside in new surprise,
And eager thus she reads with lighten'd eyes:

"Go, faithful sonnet, to Serena say
What charms peculiar in her features reign:
A stranger, whom her glance may ne'er survey,
Pays her this tribute in no flattering strain.