With equal hope he might attempt to bind
In chains of adamant the lawless wind;
For Love had aimed the fatal shaft too sure,
Hope fed the wound, and Absence knew no cure.
With alienated look, each art he saw
Still baffled by superior Nature’s law.
His anxious mind on various schemes revolved,
At last on cruel exile he resolved:
The rigorous doom was fixed; alas! how vain
To him of tender anguish to complain: