Love's Conquest

Love! thou hast vanquish'd me at last,
And I am smitten through and through;
What thou couldst not do, time long past,
Thou hast at length contrived to do.
All my resistance is subdued,
I prostrate fall in thy divan;
I stand no longer where I stood,
I feel, I own, I am but man.

I never asked nor pledged a vow,
I never bowed to thy command;
I was a child—but now, O now,
Too well thy sway I understand.
I am thy slave—I wear thy chains—
My heart is subject all to thee;
One passion flows thro' all my veins,
One sole sweet thought has mastered me.

That lovely form! 'tis Venus' own,
By all the smiling graces blent;
The roselets in the garden grown
Are far less fair, less redolent.
Thine influence, gentle as the dew;
Thy motions, faultless; and thy soul
Is bright! aye, bright and blessed too!
A beautiful, a perfect whole.

Yes! thou art beauteous in thy smile,
And beauteous in thy falling tears;
Beauteous in silence, beauteous while
Thy living language charms our ears.
Even while I own thy tyranny,
And know I am thy slave, 'tis blest
To bend my fettered soul to thee,
And, ruled by thee, to feel at rest.

Happy, who stretches to the goal,
And sits beneath love's flowery tree,
And gathers from a blooming soul
The fruits of blessed sympathy.
There is no bliss but this—for bliss
Apart from love is all a dream;
It dwells upon a maiden's kiss,
And consecrates the lover's theme.

Hung on his maiden's arm, distress
A garb of peace and pleasure wears;
And want itself is blessedness,
When love looks smiling on its cares:
So that love's pains their pleasures bring,
And all its burthens wax them light,
While hope's sweet beamings sun-rays fling,
Thro' many a darkened day and night.

My freedom is for ever lost
Since thee I found, and at thy feet
I fall and worship, with the host
Of mine affections, strong and sweet.
O yes! I build a shrine to thee,
And thou my worship'd idol art;
I, a poor pilgrim, reverently
For incense offer mine own heart!

My heart! yes! bath'd in fragrant sighs,
And mingled with untainted love;
With faith and truth, the odours rise
To thee, who smilest from above.
My prayers shall be mine incense, dear!
And for an offering worthy thee,
I'll pour the unaffected tear—
O grant a meet return to me!