Page:Poems - Lewis (1812).djvu/78

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POEMS.
And as She past, oft cropt some drooping flower,Whose beauties bloomed unmarked in sunless bower,Till plucked by Her, then first perceived the eye,Its form how graceful, and how rich its dye.As on She moved, Want, Sorrow, Pain, and CareFled from her glance, and sought less sacred air.Soothed by her voice, inveterate Malice pouredHis arrows at her feet, and broke his sword.Deep Slumber bound the Passions' stormy train;No more did Slander hiss, or hissed in vain:And where that Matron's hallowed step once trod,Envy herself with flowers oft drest the sod.
With awful hope I gazed, while near She drew,And from her bow! on my parched forehead threwSome opiate drops.—Oh! then how swift my soulCast off her burthen! Grateful languor stoleO'er all my frame, and soon my temples roundSleep with soft hand her wreath of poppies bound.
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