How wither'd, perish'd, seems the form
Of yon obscure unsightly root!
Yet from the blight of wintry storm
It hides secure the precious fruit.
...
Oh happy you! who blest with present bliss
See not with fatal prescience future tears,
Nor the dear moment of enjoyment miss
...
Preface.
Let not the rugged brow the rhymes accuse,
Which speak of gentle knights and ladies fair,
...
Oh, who art thou who darest of Love complain?
He is a gentle spirit and injures none!
His foes are ours; from them the bitter pain,
...
Delightful visions of my lonely hours!
Charm of my life and solace of my care!
Oh! would the muse but lend proportioned powers,
...
When pleasure sparkles in the cup of youth,
And the gay hours on downy wing advance,
Oh! then ‘tis sweet to hear the lip of truth
...