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Rh  The urchin laughed at my disgrace, And while his pinions fann'd my face, "My friend," he cried, "you clearly prove That you are not a match for Love!"

slumbering through the night,
 * On a purple couch reclined,

Dreams of joy and visions bright
 * Bacchus sent to charm my mind.

Methought I join'd in rapid race
 * With flying nymphs a sportive crew,

And urging on with swiftest pace,
 * Still kept the lovely game in view.

While youths, as young Lyæus fair,
 * With jealous hate, and envy stung,

Who saw my joy, but could not share
 * Reviled me as I pass'd along.

A kiss I claim'd—my promised prize;
 * But as on pleasure's brink I seem,

The vision fled my cheated eyes:
 * I woke, and lo! 'twas all a dream!

Then lonely, sad, and angry too,
 * To find my high-raised hopes were vain,