Gold can the frowns of scorn remove,
But I, alas! have naught but love.
To buy the gems of India's coast,
What gold, what treasure will suffice,
Not all their fire can ever boast
The living lustre of her eyes.
For thee the world too cheap must prove,
But I, alas! have naught but love.
O Sylvia! since no gems, nor ore
Can with thy brighter charms compare,