C HARLES , must I say, what strange it seems to say,
This rebel heart that Love hath held as naught,
Or, haply, in his cunning mazes caught,
Would laugh, and let his captive steal away;
This simple heart hath now become his prey.
Yet hath no golden tress this lesson taught,
Nor vermeil cheek that shames the rising day;
Oh! no — 'twas Beauty's most celestial ray,
With charms divine of sovereign sweetness fraught!
The noble mien, the soul-dissolving air,
The bright arch bending o'er the lucid eye,
The voice that, breathing melody so rare,
Might lead the toil'd moon from the middle sky!
Charles, when such mischief arm'd this foreign fair,
Small chance had I to hope this simple heart should fly.