The generous passion straiten and confine;
And, as a stream, when art constrains its course,
Pours its fierce torrent with augmented force,
So, Passion[[181]] narrowed to one channel small,
Unlike the former, does not flow at all.
—For Love then only flaps his purple wings,
When uncontroll’d by priestcraft or by kings.
Such the strict rules, that, in these barbarous climes,
Choke youth’s fair flow’rs, and feelings turn to crimes;
And people every walk of polish’d life[[182]]