Page:Poems on Various Subjects - Coleridge (1796).djvu/153

Those wounds, which erst did poor Arachne meet;
While he, the much-lov'd Object of my Choice,
(My bosom thrilling with enthusiast heat)
Pour'd on mine ear with deep impressive voice,
How the great Prophet of the Desart stood
And preach'd of Penitence by Jordan's Flood;
On War; or else the legendary lays
In simplest measures hymn'd to Alla's praise;
Or what the Bard from his heart's inmost stores
O'er his Friend's grave in loftier numbers pours:
Yes, Bard Polite! you but obeyed the laws
Of Justice, when the thimble you had sent;
What wounds, your thought-bewildering Muse might cause
'Tis well, your finger-shielding gifts prevent.

SARA.

 

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