Ode. Written 1739

'TWAS not by Beauty's aid alone
That Love usurp'd his airy throne,
His boasted pow'r display'd;
'Tis kindness that secures his aim,
'Tis hope that feeds the kindling flame,
Which Beauty first convey'd.

In Clara's eyes the lightnings view;
Her lips, with all the rose's hue
Have all its sweets combin'd;
Yet vain the blush, and faint the fire,
Till lips at once, and eyes, conspire
To prove the charmer kind—

Tho' wit might gild the tempting snare
With softest accent, sweetest air,
By Envy's self admir'd;
If Lesbia's wit betray'd her scorn,
In vain might ev'ry Grace adorn
What ev'ry Muse inspir'd.

Thus airy Strephon tun'd his lyre—
He scorn'd the pangs of wild desire,
Which love-sick swains endure;
Resolv'd to brave the keenest dart,
Since frowns could never wound his heart,
And smiles—must ever cure.

But, ah! how false these maxims prove,
How frail security from love
Experience hourly shows!
Love can imagin'd smiles supply,
On ev'ry charming lip and eye
Eternal sweets bestows.

In vain we trust the fair one's eyes;
In vain the sage explores the skies,
To learn from stars his fate;
Till led by fancy wide astray,
He finds no planet mark his way;
Convinc'd and wise—too late.

As partial to their words we prove,
Then boldly join the lists of love,
With tow'ring hopes supply'd:
So heroes, taught by doubtful shrines,
Mistook their deity's designs,
Then took the field—and dy'd.