still near thy heart some little, little trace:

for that dear trace the world i would resign:

o let me live, and die, and think it mine!

“i burn, i burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn

by driving winds the crackling flames are borne;”

now raving-wild, i curse that fatal night,

then bless the hour that charm'd my guilty sight:

in vain the laws their feeble force oppose,

chain'd at love's feet, they groan, his vanquish'd foes.

in vain religion meets my shrinking eye,

i dare notbat, but i turn and fly:

conscience in vain upbraids th' unhallow'd fire,

love grasps her scorpions—stifled they expire!

reason drops headlong from his sacred throne,

your dear idea reigns, and reigns alone;

each thought intoxicated homage yields,

and riots wanton in forbidden fields.

by all on high adoring mortals know!

by all the conscious villain fears below!

by your dear self!—the last great oath i swear,

not life, nor soul, were ever half so dear!