Nor touch her glowing skin, nor intercept the day.
Yet why, Ellipsis, at thy fate repine?
More lasting bliss, securer joys are thine.
Though to each Fair his treach'rous wish may stray,
Though each, in turn, may seize a transient sway,
'Tis thine with mild coercion to restrain,
Twine round his struggling heart, and bind with endless chain.
Thus, happy France! in thy regenerate land,
Where Taste with Rapine saunters hand in hand;
Where, nursed in seats of innocence and bliss,