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1752–1832

TO MYRTALIS

Philip Morin Freneau

How bold this project, to defy The artillery of a summer sky: Round you, unmoved, the lightning plays, While others perish in the blaze.

The fluid fire, in deafening peals, Along the warm conductor steals; And thence directed to the ground, It glances off without a wound!

Thus guarded, while the heavens are bowed, You, fearless, see the passing cloud; And Jove's red bolts unheeded fall, Near You, who slight, or scorn them all.

The beaver on your sacred scull, ( Secure as Salamander's wool ) Assists to keep from your rigg'd head The flash that strikes us, wretches, dead.

But while the sulphur of the skies, Disarmed, from this fair lady flies; Or while the warm electric fire In flashes darts along her spire,

She, not so merciful or kind, ( Or we, not guarded to her mind ) By Cupid's darts, procures our fall, By Cupid's arrows kills us all.

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TO MYRTALIS · Philip Morin Freneau · Poetry Cove