What hopes, what terrors, does this gift create,
Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate!
The myrtle ( ensign of supreme command,
Consign'd to Venus by Melissa's hand ),
Not less capricious than a reigning fair,
Oft favours, oft rejects a lover's prayer.
In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain,
In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain.
The myrtle crowns the happy lovers’ heads,
The unhappy lovers’ graves the myrtle spreads.
Oh! then, the meaning of thy gift impart,
And ease the throbbings of an anxious heart;
Soon must this sprig, as you shall fix its doom,
Adorn Philander's head, or grace his tomb.