IL TRIONFO DEL AMOR.
Charlotte Dacre
SO full my thoughts are of thee, that I swear
All else is hateful to my troubl'd soul;
How thou hast o'er me gain'd such vast control,
How charm'd my stubborn spirit is most rare.
Sure thou hast mingled philtres in my bowl!
Or what thine high enchanted arts declare
Fearless of blame—for truth I will not care,
So charms the witchery, whether fair or foul.
Yet well my love-sick mind thine arts can tell;
No magic potions gav'st thou, save what I
Drank from those lustrous eyes when they did dwell
With dying fondness on me—or thy sigh
Which sent its perfum'd poison to my brain.
Thus known thy spells, thou bland seducer, see—
Come practice them again, and oh! again;
Spell-bound I am—and spell-bound wish to be.
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