A lucky chance, that oft decides the fate Of mighty monarchs, then decided thine. For lo! conducted by the laughing loves, This cool retreat his Musidora sought: Warm in her cheek the sultry season glow'd; And, rob'd in loose array, she came to bathe Her fervent limbs in the refreshing stream. What shall he do? In sweet confusion lost, And dubious flutt'rings, he a while remain'd: A pure ingenuous elegance of soul,
A delicate refinement, known to few, Perplex'd his breast, and urg'd him to retire: But love forbade. Ye prudes in virtue, say, Say, ye severest, what would you have done? Mean-time, this fairer nymph than ever blest Arcadian stream, with timid eye around
The banks surveying, stripp'd her beauteous limbs, To taste the lucid coolness of the flood. Ah then! not Paris on the piny top Of Ida panted stronger, when aside
The rival-goddesses the veil divine
Cast unconfin'd, and gave him all their charms, Than, Damon, thou; as from the snowy leg,
And slender foot, th' inverted silk she drew; As the soft touch dissolv'd the virgin zone; And, through the parting robe, th'alternate breast, With youth wild-throbbing, on thy lawless gaze In full luxuriance rose. But, desp'rate youth, How durst thou risk the soul-distracting view; As from her naked limbs, of glowing white, Harmonious swell'd by nature's finest hand, In folds loose-floating fell the fainter lawn; And fair-expos'd she stood, shrunk from herself, With fancy blushing, at the doubtful breeze Alarm'd, and starting like the fearful fawn? Then to the flood she rush'd; the parted flood Its lovely guest with closing waves receiv'd; And ev'ry beauty soft'ning, ev'ry grace
Flushing anew, a mellow lustre shed:
As shines the lily through the crystal mild; Or as the rose amid the morning dew,
Fresh from Aurora's hand, more sweetly glows. While thus she wanton'd, now beneath the wave But ill conceal'd; and now with streaming locks, That half embrac'd her in a humid veil, Rising again, the latent Damon drew
With wild surprise,
As if to marble struck, devoid of sense?,
Published 1 December 1801 by F. J. Du Roveray London.
Such madd'ning draughts of beauty to the soul, As for a while o'erwhelm'd his raptur'd thought With luxury too daring. Check'd, at last, By love's respectful modesty, he deem'd The theft profane, if aught profane to love Can e'er be deem'd; and, struggling from the shade, With headlong hurry fled: but first these lines, Trac'd by his ready pencil, on the bank
With trembling hand he threw: "Bathe on, my fair,
Yet unbeheld save by the sacred eye
Of faithful love: I go to guard thy haunt,
To keep from thy recess each vagrant foot, And each licentious eye." With wild surprise, As if to marble struck, devoid of sense, A stupid moment motionless she stood:
So stands the statue that enchants the world, So bending tries to veil the matchless boast, The mingled beauties of exulting Greece. Recov'ring, swift she flew to find those robes Which blissful Eden knew not; and, array'd
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