Ode XII: To His Heart

Nay, nay; thou striv'st in vain, my heart,
To mend thy miss:
Thou hast deserved to bear this smart,
And worse than this;
That would'st thyself debase,
To serve in such a place.

Thou thought'st thyself too long at rest;
Such was thy pride;
Needs must thou seek another breast,
Wherein to bide.
Say now what hast thou found?
In fetters thou art bound.

What hath thy faithful service won
But high disdain?
Broke is the thread thy fancy spun;
Thy labour vain.
Fall'n art thou now with pain,
And canst not rise again.

And canst thou look for help of me,
In this distress?
I must confess I pity thee,
And can no less.
But bear awhile thy pain,
For fear thou fall again.

Learn by thy hurt to shun the fire,
Play not withal;
When climbing thoughts high things aspire,
They seek their fall.
Thou ween'st nought shone but gold;
So wast thou blind and bold.

Yet lie not still for this disgrace,
But mount again;
So that thou know the wished place,
Be worth thy pain.
Then though thou fall and die,
Yet never fear to fly.