And ah! should some face of a livelier grace
Than mine ever meet them! Ah! should you stray!"
Love, wearied at last, was in slumber lock'd fast;—
"Those wings!" said the watcher, "he might fly away."
One awful moment! Oh! could she sever
Those wings from Love, he is hers for ever!
With trembling hand she gathers the wings—
She clips—they are off! and up Love springs.
"Adieu!" he cried, as he leapt from her side,
"Of folly's cup you have drunk the dregs;