| |
| OFT I’ve implored the Gods in vain, | |
| And prayed till I’ve been weary! | |
| For once, I’ll seek my wish to gain | |
| Of Oberon the Fairy! | |
| |
| Sweet airy Being, wanton Spright! | 5 |
| Who liv’st in woods unseen; | |
| And oft, by Cynthia’s silver light, | |
| Tripp’st gaily o’er the green: | |
| |
| If e’er thy pitying heart was moved, | |
| As ancient stories tell, | 10 |
| And for th’ Athenian Maid who loved, | |
| Thou sought’st a wondrous spell; | |
| |
| O, deign once more t’ exert thy power! | |
| Haply, some herb, or tree, | |
| Sovereign as juice from western flower, | 15 |
| Conceals a balm for me. | |
| |
| I ask no kind return in Love; | |
| No tempting charm to please; | |
| Far from the heart such gifts remove, | |
| That sighs for peace and ease. | 20 |
| |
| Nor ease, nor peace, that heart can know, | |
| That, like the needle true, | |
| Turns at the touch of joy or woe; | |
| But, turning, trembles too. | |
| |
| Far as distress the soul can wound, | 25 |
| ’Tis pain in each degree; | |
| ’Tis bliss but to a certain bound, | |
| Beyond—is agony. | |
| |
| Then take this treacherous sense of mine, | |
| Which dooms me still to smart; | 30 |
| Which pleasure can to pain refine, | |
| To pain new pangs impart. | |
| |
| O, haste to shed the sovereign balm, | |
| My shattered nerves new-string; | |
| And for my guest, serenely calm, | 35 |
| The nymph Indifference bring. | |
| |
| At her approach see hope, see fear, | |
| See expectation fly; | |
| And disappointment in the rear, | |
| That blasts the purposed joy. | 40 |
| |
| The tears which pity taught to flow, | |
| My eyes shall then discern; | |
| The heart that throbbed at others’ woe, | |
| Shall then scarce feel its own. | |
| |
| The wounds which now each moment bleed, | 45 |
| Each moment then shall close; | |
| And tranquil days shall still succeed | |
| To nights of sweet repose. | |
| |
| O, Fairy Elf! but grant me this; | |
| This one kind comfort send; | 50 |
| And so may never-fading bliss, | |
| Thy flowery paths attend. | |
| |
| So may the glow-worm’s glimmering light, | |
| Thy tiny footsteps lead | |
| To some new region of delight, | 55 |
| Unknown to mortal tread. | |
| |
| And be thy acorn goblet filled | |
| With heaven’s ambrosial dew: | |
| From sweetest, freshest flowers distilled, | |
| That shed fresh sweets for you. | 60 |
| |
| And what of life remains for me, | |
| I’ll pass in sober ease; | |
| Half-pleased, contented will I be— | |
| Content, but half to please. | |
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