OF TEMPER.
137
CANTO VI.
BLEST be the heart of sympathetic mould,
Whatever form that gentle heart infold,
Whose generous fibres with fond terror shake,
When keen affliction threatens to o'ertake
Young artless Beauty, as alarm'd she strays
Thro' the strange windings of this mortal maze!
To such, Serena, be thy story known,
Whose bosom best can make thy lot their own,
And, kindly sharing in thy trials past,
Attend with sweet anxiety the last.
The hour approaches, the tremendous hour,
In whose dark moments deeper perils lower;
Still so inwrapt in Pleasure's gay disguise,
They lurk invisible to Caution's eyes;
And, unsuspected by the fair-one, wait
To cancel or confirm her blissful fate.
Whatever form that gentle heart infold,
Whose generous fibres with fond terror shake,
When keen affliction threatens to o'ertake
Young artless Beauty, as alarm'd she strays
Thro' the strange windings of this mortal maze!
To such, Serena, be thy story known,
Whose bosom best can make thy lot their own,
And, kindly sharing in thy trials past,
Attend with sweet anxiety the last.
The hour approaches, the tremendous hour,
In whose dark moments deeper perils lower;
Still so inwrapt in Pleasure's gay disguise,
They lurk invisible to Caution's eyes;
And, unsuspected by the fair-one, wait
To cancel or confirm her blissful fate.
