No, foolish youth — to virtuous fame If now thy early hopes be vow'd, If true ambition's nobler flame Command thy footsteps from the crowd,
Lean not to Love's enchanting snare; His songs, his words, his looks beware, Nor join his votaries, the young and fair. By thought, by dangers, and by toils,
The wreath of just renown is worn; Nor will ambition's awful spoils The flowery pomp of ease adorn; But Love unbends the force of thought;
By Love unmanly fears are taught; And Love's reward with gaudy sloth is bought. Yet thou hast read in tuneful lays, And heard from many a zealous breast,
The pleasing tale of beauty's praise In wisdom's lofty language dress'd; Of beauty powerful to impart Each finer sense, each comelier art,
And soothe and polish man's ungentle heart. If then, from Love's deceit secure, Thus far alone thy wishes tend, Go; see the white-wing'd evening hour
On Delia's vernal walk descend: Go, while the golden light serene, The grove, the lawn, the soften'd scene Becomes the presence of the rural queen.
Attend, while that harmonious tongue Each bosom, each desire commands: Apollo's lute by Hermes strung, And touch'd by chaste Minerva's hands,
Attend. I feel a force divine, O Delia, win my thoughts to thine; That half the colour of thy life is mine. Yet conscious of the dangerous charm,
Soon would I turn my steps away; Nor oft provoke the lovely harm, Nor lull my reason's watchful sway. But thou, my friend — I hear thy sighs:
Alas, I read thy downcast eyes; And thy tongue falters, and thy colour flies. So soon again to meet the fair? So pensive all this absent hour?—
O yet, unlucky youth, beware, While yet to think is in thy power. In vain with friendship's flattering name Thy passion veils its inward shame;
Friendship, the treacherous fuel of thy flame! Once, I remember, new to Love, And dreading his tyrannic chain, I sought a gentle maid to prove
What peaceful joys in friendship reign: Whence we forsooth might safely stand, And pitying view the love-sick band, And mock the wingèd boy's malicious hand.
Thus frequent pass'd the cloudless day, To smiles and sweet discourse resign'd; While I exulted to survey One generous woman's real mind:
Till friendship soon my languid breast Each night with unknown cares possess'd, Dash'd my coy slumbers, or my dreams distress'd. Fool that I was — And now, even now
While thus I preach the Stoic strain, Unless I shun Olympia's view, An hour unsays it all again. O friend!— when Love directs her eyes
To pierce where every passion lies, Where is the firm, the cautious, or the wise?
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