S weet! dazzle not my feeble sight,
A nd strike me not with blindness!
B ehold me mildly from that face
E ven where thou now dost run thy race,
T he sphere where now thou turnest,
H aving, like Phæton changed thy place,
A nd yet hearts only burnest.
R ed in her right cheek, thou dost rise
E xalted after, in her eyes;
G reat glory, there, thou shewest!