An Ode. Addressed to Laura

Oh, lovely Laura, may a youth, Inspir'd by beauty, urg'd by truth, Disclose the heart's alarms, The fire in raptur'd breasts that glows, Th' impassion'd pang on love that grows, And dare to sing thy charms!

Enough with war my lay has rung; A softer theme awakes my tongue; 'Tis beauty's force divine: Can I resist that air, that grace, Thy harmony of form and face? For ev'ry charm is thine.

Of health, of youth th' expanding flush, Of virgin fear the flying blush, With crimson stain thy cheek: The bee such nectar never sips, As yield the rose-buds of thy lips, When sweetly thou dost speak.

'Tis thine the heaviest heart to cheer, Those accents, drank with eager ear, So musically roll: Where swells the breast, the snow-white skin Scarce hides the secret thoughts within, Nor needs disguise that soul.

With thee, of cloudless days I dream; Thy eyes, in morning splendours, beam So exquisitely fair— What taste! as o'er thy back and breast, In light-brown ringlets neatly drest, Devolves a length of hair.

Unblam'd, oh, let me gaze and gaze, While love-sick fancy fondly strays, And feasts on many a kiss;— For us let tides of rapture roll, And may we mingle soul with soul, In extacies of bliss!