Page:Elfrida, a Dramatic Poem - Mason (1752).djvu/37

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Since first the crimson mantle of the mornSkirted yon gay horizon? Say, my Friends,Have I miscounted? Did not AthelwoldAt parting fix this morn for his return,This dear, long-wish'd for morn? He did, he did,And seal'd it with a kiss; I could not err.And yet he comes not. He was wont outstripThe sun's most early speed, and make its risingTo me unwish'd and needless. This delayCreates strange doubts and scruples in my breast.Courts throng with beauties, and my AthelwoldHas a soft, susceptible heart, as proneTo yield its love to ev'ry sparkling eye,As is the musk-rose to dispense its fragranceTo ev'ry whisp'ring breeze; perhaps he's false,Perhaps Elfrida's wretched.
CHORUS. Ah see! how round yon branchingSee, Elfrida,Ah see! how round yon branching elm the ivyTwines its green chain, and poisons what supports it.Not less injurious to the blooming shootsOf growing love is sickly jealousy.
ELFRIDA.My mind nor pines with sickly jealousy,Nor triumphs in security and peace.Who loves, must fear; and sure who loves like me,Must greatly fear.
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