Evander to Emillia, Epistle V

O! thou art absent, and resentment’s power
Forsakes EVANDER in this lonely hour;
His weak resolves dispersed, he sees not now
The angry knitting of thy scornful brow;
Forgets that its dear curves, by Nature made
Those beamy eyes to soften and to shade,
And graceful, in that kind assignment, look
As alders bending o’er the glassy brook,
To his afflicted sight so lately rose
Deform’d by fancied wrongs, and causeless woes.
Now present only to his mental sight
Those orbs, that roll in floods of dewy light,
Tempering beneath his gaze their dazzling ray,
Like bright stars waning at the dawn of day;
To his internal ear, from that sweet tongue,
No sounds less melting than the syren’s song,
Such, as in days long fled, resistless stole
Through every thrill’d perception of his soul;
Yes, only such, thy boundless power to prove,
Brings the recording spirit of his love.