Himfy's Loves, I. Song 7

As the suffering hart confounded
By the lance that tears his veins;
Flies—in vain—for he is wounded,
Vainly flies to woods or plains:
Since thy piercing eye look'd thro' me,
So I flee—and vainly flee;
Still thy magic barbs pursue me—
I am wounded, maid! by thee.
And the wound but seems the stronger,
As my flight is further—longer—
Smitten heart! alas! thy pain
Seeks relief or rest in vain.