The Passions

 T HE Passions were in Hymen bless'd,
But Love abjur'd what they caress'd.
When Beauty could attract no more,
The mind had nothing to adore.
The taste with no attachment bound,
The heart with no endearments crown'd,
My tortur'd spirit's baffled aim
A rebel to its Queen became;
Euphrosyne's bewitching power
Smil'd on the dissipated hour.
 Then cruel Scorn, in Virtue's name,
Wing'd at my life the dart of shame;
The Myrtle and the Roses fled,
Bare was the Pilgrim's wither'd head.
But though to the Autumnal day
The Sun refus'd his glowing ray,
An Evening Star the Muse appear'd,
My desolated spirits cheer'd,
And guides the vessel's batter'd sail
To port—in her Elysian Vale.
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