Our early pleasures, Reason’s first-drawn schemes, }
Youth’s strong illusions, Love’s delirious dreams; }
Then from her book he would presume to ask
A song of praise, and she perform’d the task. 650
The clock struck twelve—He started—‘Must I go?’
His looks spoke plainly, and the lady’s, ‘No;’
So down he sat—and, when the clock struck one,
There was no start, no effort to be gone;
Nor stay’d discourse——
“And so your loves were cross’d,