The charm, the esoteric spell,
Which lures the seraph from on High.
To leave the Throne of Light,—for Hell,—
And with resistless shackles binds,
In viewless thrall, the captive minds.
For who can fathom love's caprice,
Supplant her fervid wars with peace,
And passion's ardent flame command?
Or who presume to understand
And read with cabalistic art