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When lo! a winged boy I spy'd
wrung the water from his hair. Soon as the fraudful youth was warm, " Let's try,” says he, “if any
larm “ Has chanc'd my bow this stormy night; “ I fear the wet has spoil'd it quite." With that he bent the fatal yew, And to the head an arrow drew; Loud twang'd the sounding tring, the dart Pierc'd through my bosom to my heart : Then laugh'd amain the wanıon boy, And “ Friend,”. he cried, “ I wish thee jay? “ Undamag'd is my bow, I fee, * But what a wretch I've made of thee!”
How chearful along the gay mead,
The daily and cowslip appear,
Rejoice in the spring of the year;
The herbage that springs from the fod,
The only, insensible prove?
Forbid it, Devotion and Love.
And still can destroy with a nod,
My soul shall be wrapt in my God!