Would storm VOLCANO BATTERIES with delight,
And grapple with GRIM DEATH in glorious strife.
Oh! I could brave the bolts of angry Jove,
When ceaseless lightnings fire the midnight skies;
What is his wrath to that of HER I love?
What is his LIGHTNING to my Delia's eyes?
Go, fatal lock! I cast thee to the wind;
Ye serpent CURLS, ye poison-tendrils, go!
Would I could tear thy memory from my mind,
Accursed lock,... thou cause of all my woe!