Ode (“Young Corydon for lovely Phyllis burn’d”)

YOUNG Corydon for lovely Phyllis burn'd,
The gen'rous Nymph his ardent Wailings mourn'd.
The nuptial Tye her warmer Thoughts confin'd;
Still some Emotions flutter'd in her Mind;
The wily Youth had touch'd her tender Breast,
When smiling soft the Swain she thus addrest.

Cease, fond Youth, no Pray'r shall move
My soften'd Soul to guilty Love:
Those passionate Complaints give o'er,
Comply—or ne'er behold me more.
My Rage yet Pity disapproves,
Some Pow'r o'ersways, but 'tis not Love's;
Be Passion lost in Friendship's Flame!
Approach me with that sacred Name,
And ev'ry virtuous Blessing claim.

Such kind Expressions, such endearing Terms
Who dares misconstrue what dire Lust alarms!
—The am'rous Youth her Fondness misapply'd:
Inflam'd with fierce Desire! And warmly sigh'd,

Friendship, alas, in Breasts like mine
Dominion ne'er can own:
Where rebel Love holds uncontroul'd
A firm, unshaken Throne;
Come, let me fold thee in my Arms,
Secure from ev'ry Eye;
Pour forth my Soul in Rapture's Heat,
And on thy Bosom die!

THE virtuous Nymph in conscious Grief and Fear
Mourn'd silently, yet dropt a speaking Tear.
Struck with Remorse, he saw the piercing Sign
Of Heav'n-born Innocence, and Truth divine.
Sorrow and Shame his erring Bosom stung,
And half-broke Accents faulter'd on his Tongue.
She saw with Pleasure his repentant Grief,
And thus bespoke, to give his Soul Relief.

How blest I am, no Tongue can prove,
In such superior Force to move,
And heal thy frantic Breast!
Such Virtue, Tenderness, and Truth,
What Pow'r could harm? (return'd the Youth)
He look'd, and sigh'd the rest.

Remorse and Wonder held them silent long;
Then Joy burst forth spontaneous in their Song.

Matchless the Youth, who, timely wise,
Can Passion's Faults retrieve!
Matchless the Fair, who kindly tries,
Those Errors to forgive!
Hence shall each meaner Bosom learn
How Virtue's Pow'r can move,
How infelt Goodness awes the Soul,
And Friendship conquers Love.