For here the sigh, that soft affection heaves,
From stings of sharper woe the soul relieves:
Elysian scenes! too happy long to last,
Too soon a storm the smiling dawn o’ercast:
Too soon some demon to my father bore
The tidings, that his heart with anguish tore.
My pride to kindle, with dissuasive voice
Awhile he laboured to degrade my choice:
Then, in the whirling wave of pleasure, sought
From its loved object to divert my thought: