Oh could I hope that e'er my favour'd lays Cupid has strung from you, O tresses fine, Fine are my Delia's tresses as the threads That from the silk-worm, self-interr'd, proceed, Yet with these tresses Cupid's power elate My captive heart has handcuffed in a chain, Strong as the cables of some huge first-rate, THAT BEARS BRITANNIA'S THUNDERS O'ER THE MAIN. The SYLPHS that round her radiant locks repair, And ELFIN MINSTRELS with assiduous care ELEGY IV. The Poet relates how he stole a Lock of Delia's Hair, and her Anger. Oh! be the day accurst that gave me birth! Let universal Chaos now return, Now let the central fires their prison burst, And Earth and Heaven, and Air and Ocean burnFor Delia frowns-she frowns, and I am curst! Oh! I could dare the fury of the fight, Where hostile millions sought my single life; Would storm Volcano batteries with delight, And grapple with grim Death in glorious strife. Oh! I could brave the bolts of angry Jove, When ceaseless lightnings fire the midnight skies; What is his wrath to that of her I love? What is his LIGHTNING to my DELIA'S EYES? Go, fatal Lock! I cast thee to the wind; Seize the curst curls, ye Furies as they fly! Last night-Oh hear me Heaven, and grant my prayer! Or let me meet old Time upon his flight, I'll force him back the ROAD OF YESTERDAY. Last night, as o'er the page of Love's despair, And would that at that instant o'er my sleeve: my thread The shears of Atropos had open'd then ; And when I reft the lock from Delia's head, Had cut me sudden from the sons of men ! She heard the scissars that fair lock divide, "You stupid puppy-you have spoil'd my wig!" The OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, And how he gained them. You are old, Father William, the young man cried, The few locks that are left you are grey, You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man, Now tell me the reason I pray. In the days of my youth, Father William replied, You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And yet you lament not the days that are gone, |