As onward to the tomb I steal,
That still as death approaches nearer,
The joys of life are sweeter, dearer;
And had I but an hour to live,
That little hour to bliss I'd give!
ODE XII.
I WILL; I will; the conflict's past,
And I'll consent to love at last.
Cupid has long, with smiling art,
Invited me to yield my heart;
And I have thought that peace of mind
Should not be for a smile resign'd;
And I've repell'd the tender lure,
And hoped my heart should sleep secure.
But, slighted in his boasted charms,
The angry infant flew to arms;
He slung his quiver's golden frame,
He took his bow, his shafts of flame,
And proudly summon'd me to yield,
Or meet him on the martial field.
And what did I unthinking do?
I took to arms, undaunted too;
Assumed the corslet, shield, and spear,
And, like Pelides, smiled at fear.
Then (hear it, all you powers above!)
I fought with Love! I fought with Love!
And now his arrows all were shed
And I had just in terrors fled—
When heaving an indignant sigh
To see me thus unwounded fly,
And having now no other dart,
He glanced himself into my heart!
My heart—alas the luckless day!
Received the god, and died away.