Each from that period feels the mutual smart,
Nor seeks to cure it - heart is changed for heart;
Nor is there peace till they delighted stand,
And, at the altar - hand is join’d to hand.
“Alas! my child, there are who, dreaming so,
Waste their fresh youth, and waking feel the woe.
There is no spirit sent the heart to move
With such prevailing and alarming love;
Passion to reason will submit - or why
Should wealthy maids the poorest swains deny?