OF TEMPER.
157
And, inly blessing this victorious hour,
Her soul exults in its recover'd power.
In such mild terms she hails th' insulting peer,
As Spleen, if mortal, must expire to hear;
But, driven for ever from the lovely girl,
The foul fiend riots in the captive earl.
He answers not; but, with a sullen air,
On happier Edwin, who approach'd the fair,
Darts such a glance of rage and envious hate,
As Satan cast on Eden's blissful state,
When on our parents first he fixt his sight,
And undelighted gaz'd on all delight;
So doom'd to look, and doom'd such pangs to feel,
Scornful he turn'd on his elastic heel.
Her soul exults in its recover'd power.
In such mild terms she hails th' insulting peer,
As Spleen, if mortal, must expire to hear;
But, driven for ever from the lovely girl,
The foul fiend riots in the captive earl.
He answers not; but, with a sullen air,
On happier Edwin, who approach'd the fair,
Darts such a glance of rage and envious hate,
As Satan cast on Eden's blissful state,
When on our parents first he fixt his sight,
And undelighted gaz'd on all delight;
So doom'd to look, and doom'd such pangs to feel,
Scornful he turn'd on his elastic heel.
"O lovely mildness! O angelic maid!
Deserving homage, tho' to scorn betray'd;
Rise still, sweet spirit, rise these wrongs above,
Turn from injurious pride to faithful love;
Deserving homage, tho' to scorn betray'd;
Rise still, sweet spirit, rise these wrongs above,
Turn from injurious pride to faithful love;
