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34
The First Book of
Must never, never more our Hands be joyn’d?
Are you, like Heav’n, grown cruel and unkind?
Why must those borrow’d Shapes delude your Son?
And why, ah! why those Accents not your own?545
He said; then sought the Town; but Venus shrowds
And wraps their Persons in a Veil of Clouds;
That none may interpose, with fond Delay,
Nor see, nor touch, nor ask them of their Way.
Thro’ Air sublime the Queen of Love retreats550
To Paphos’ stately Tow’rs, and blissful Seats:
Where to her Name an hundred Altars rise,
And Gums, and flow’ry Wreaths, perfume the Skies.
Now o’er the lofty Hill they bend their Way,
Whence all the rising Town in Prospect lay,555
And Tow’rs and Temples; for the Mountain’s Brow
Hung bending o’er, and shaded all below.
Where
