Sweet are the charms of her I love,

More fragrant than the damask rose;

Soft as the down of turtle dove,

Gentle as wind when Zephyr blows;

Refreshing as descending rains

To sun-burnt climes and thirsty plains.

True as the needle to the pole,

Or as the dial to the sun;

Constant as gliding waters roll,

Whose swelling tides obey the moon.

From every other charmer free,

My life and love shall follow thee.

The lamb the flow'ry thyme devours,

The dam the tender kid pursues;

Sweet Philomel, in shady bowers

Of verdant spring, her note renews:

All follow what they most admire,

As I pursue my soul's desire.

Nature must change her beauteous face,

And vary as the seasons rise;

As winter to the spring gives place,

Summer th' approach of autumn flies:

No change on love the seasons bring;

Love only knows perpetual spring.

Devouring time, with stealing pace,

Makes lofty oaks and cedars bow;

And marble tow'rs, and walls of brass,

In his rude march, he levels low;

But time, destroying far and wide,

Love from the soul can ne'er divide.

Death only, with his cruel dart,

The gentle godhead can remove;

And drive him from the bleeding heart,

To mingle with the blest above:

Where, known to all his kindred train,

He finds a lasting rest from pain.

Love and his sister fair, the soul,

Twin-born from heav'n together came;

Love will the universe controul,

When dying seasons lose their name:

Divine abodes shall own his power,

When time and death shall be no more.