Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/93

 Where woodbinds flaunt, and roses shed a couch, While evening draws her crimson curtains round, Trull your soft minutes with Betraying Man.

let th' aspiring youth beware of love, Of the smooth glance beware; for 'tis too late, When on his heart the torrent-softness pours. Then Wisdom prostrate lies, and fading fame Dissolves in air away; while the fond soul, Wrapt in gay visions of unreal bliss, Still paints th' illusive form; the kindling grace; Th' inticing smile; the modest-seeming eye, Beneath whose beauteous beams, belying heaven, Lurk searchless cunning, cruelty, and death: And still, false-warbling in his cheated ear, Her syren voice, enchanting, draws him on, To guileful shores, and meads of fatal joy.

present, in the very lap of love Inglorious laid; while music flows around, Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours; Amid the roses fierce Repentance rears Her snaky crest: a quick-returning pang Shoots thro' the conscious heart; where honour still, And great design, against the oppressive load Of luxury, by fits, impatient heave.

absent, what fantastic woes, arrous'd, Rage in each thought, by restless musing fed, Chill the warm cheek, and blast the bloom of life? Neglected fortune flies; and sliding swift, Prone into ruin, fall his scorn'd affairs. 'Tis nought but gloom around: the darken'd sun Loses his light: the rosy-bosom'd Spring To weeping fancy pines; and yon bright arch, Contracted, bends into a dusky vault. Rh