Page:The works of Anna Laetitia Barbauld volume 1.djvu/246

162 Once more between La Borde and me! Ah, wish not what will never be! For wandering planets have their rules, Well known in astronomic schools; But life's swift wheels will ne'er turn back, When once they've measured o'er their track, Eleven years,—twice five and one,— Is a long hour in Beauty's sun: Those years will pilfer many a grace Which decks La Borde's enchanting face; The little Loves which round her fly, Will moult the wing, and droop, and die: And I, grown dull, my lyre unstrung In some old chimney corner hung, Gay scenes of Paris all forgot, Shall rust within my silent cot: Life's summer ended, and life's spring, Nor she shall charm, nor I shall sing. Even Cook, upon whose blooming brow The youthful graces open now,