Where young hearts that are aching, their anguish may tell;
Nor a wood where a maiden deserted may sigh,
Or where youths, stripp’d of hope, may with decency die;—
Though all it can boast be a desolate heath,
Where ’twould puzzle young Cupid to find him a wreath,—
Yet e’en here the Idalian has furnish’d full work
For the hearts of the youths and the maidens of Ferques.
Of these there were two in the good days of old,
When the hard iron heel of the baron so bold
Ground those to the dust whom the mere chance of birth