Love! thou pleasing, gen’rous feeling,
In what shape art thou not found?
Gently o’er the senses stealing,
In a soft delirium drown’d!
“Lo! with martial stride appearing,
Deck’d in soldiers’ trim array,
Thou! nor wounds nor carnage fearing,
Lead’st to hasty rout the way!”
“Now as hermit prostrate falling,
Scrip and beads around thee strung,
Thou a joyous huntsman calling,
Horn and belt on shoulder strung.”
Wild, to antic measure dancing,
Now the mantling cup goes round,
Fauns and satyrs round thee prancing,
Lightly o’er the mystic ground:
Quick, with looks demure yet smiling,
See the shepherd youth appears,
With sweet note the nymph beguiling,
Softly woo’d with vows and tears!
Sighs, entreaties, wiles enchanting,
Ever ready at thy nod,
Kneeling, trembling, struggling, panting,
Still prepar’d, thou busy god!
Yet with ev’ry little failing,
Thou art welcome still to me,
Gone — my heart is ever wailing,
Life’s but savage liberty.