TO MYRTALIS

How bold this project, to defy The artillery of a summer sky: Round you, unmoved, the lightning plays, While others perish in the blaze.

The fluid fire, in deafening peals, Along the warm conductor steals; And thence directed to the ground, It glances off without a wound!

Thus guarded, while the heavens are bowed, You, fearless, see the passing cloud; And Jove's red bolts unheeded fall, Near You, who slight, or scorn them all.

The beaver on your sacred scull, (Secure as Salamander's wool) Assists to keep from your rigg'd head The flash that strikes us, wretches, dead.

But while the sulphur of the skies, Disarmed, from this fair lady flies; Or while the warm electric fire In flashes darts along her spire,

She, not so merciful or kind, (Or we, not guarded to her mind) By Cupid's darts, procures our fall, By Cupid's arrows kills us all.