Whets with fresh blood from lovers’ hearts.
Boyhood is rising to thy sway,
Thy train of slaves augments: e’en they,
Who swore thy threshold to forsake,
Hug the fond chain they cannot break.
Thee for their sons pale mothers fear,
The frugal father for his heir:
And plighted maidens, lest thy charms
Keep the false truants from their arms.—Ed.]
NOTES TO THE ODE TO LORD MOIRA.