Poet

God knows, I shouldn't wonder! I love this coy nymph, who, coldly--as yon peak Shines on the river it feeds, yet keeps asunder-- Long have I worshiped, but never dared to speak.

Till she, no doubt, her love no longer hiding, Waked by some chance word her father's jealousy; Slips her disdain--as an avalanche down gliding Sweeps flocks and kin away--to clear a path for ME.

Hence his attack.