Evander to Emillia

O! thou art absent, and resentment’s power Forsakes EVANDER in this lonely hour; His weak resolves dispersed, he sees not now The angry knitting of thy scornful brow; Forgets that its dear curves, by Nature made Those beamy eyes to soften and to shade, And graceful, in that kind assignment, look As alders bending o’er the glassy brook, To his afflicted sight so lately rose Deform’d by fancied wrongs, and causeless woes. Now present only to his mental sight Those orbs, that roll in floods of dewy light, Tempering beneath his gaze their dazzling ray, Like bright stars waning at the dawn of day; To his internal ear, from that sweet tongue, No sounds less melting than the syren’s song, Such, as in days long fled, resistless stole Through every thrill’d perception of his soul; Yes, only such, thy boundless power to prove, Brings the recording spirit of his love.