_Ode Xxxiii._

'Twas in an airy dream of night, I fancied that I wing'd my flight On pinions fleeter than the wind, While little Love, whose feet were twined (I know not why) with chains of lead, Pursued me as I trembling fled; Pursued--and could I e'er have thought?-- Swift as the moment I was caught! What does the wanton fancy mean By such a strange, illusive scene?

I fear she whispers to my breast, That you, my girl, have stol'n my rest; That though my fancy, for a while, Has hung on many a woman's smile, I soon dissolved the passing vow, And ne'er was caught by love till now!