Th' Idalian boy, to pierce Neæra's heart,
Had bent his bow, had chose the fatal dart;
But when the child, in wonder lost, survey'd
That brow, o'er which your sunny tresses play'd!
Those cheeks, that blush'd the rose's warmest dye!
That streamy languish of your lucid eye!
That bosom, too, with matchless beauty bright!
Scarce Cypria's own could boast so pure a white!
Tho' mischief urg'd him first to wound my fair,
Yet partial fondness urg'd him now to spare;
But, doubting still, he linger'd to decide;
At length resolv'd, he flung the shaft aside:
Then rush'd impetuous to thy circling arms,
And hung voluptuous o'er thy heav'nly charms:
There, as the boy in wanton folds was laid,
His lips on thine in various kisses play'd;
With ev'ry kiss he tried a thousand wiles;
A thousand gestures, and a thousand smiles;
Your inmost breast with Cyprian odours fill'd,
And all the myrtle's luscious scent instill'd:
Lastly, he swore by ev'ry pow'r above!
By Venus' self, the potent queen of love!
That thou, blest nymph! for ever shouldst remain
Exempt from am'rous care, from am'rous pain.
What wonder, then, such balmy sweets should flow
In ev'ry grateful kiss thy lips bestow!
What wonder, then, obdurate maid! you prove
Averse to all the tenderness of love!