Nor, gay Amanda, tho', with sighs, to you
The plaintive Damon kneels, and vents his soul
In softly swelling strains: yet let not these
Dilate your heart; nor look with scornful air
On the gay rivals, who with you contest
Fair Beauty's prize, and vie, supreme, to shine
'Midst the soft circles, where indulgent flow
The soothing hours; where Music gently wakes,
Symphonious, every passion, and attunes
The soul to rapture, while diffusive joy
Spreads thro' the melting throng. For Beauty still
By Taste is prov'd, by her capricious law
It blooms or withers. You! who long have held
The willing Strephon, o'er th' obdurate heart
Of Damon never reign'd; while he, subdu'd
By bright Amanda, sighs his soul away
In unavailing moan. Far from your breast
Be banish'd Pride; the high assuming air
Ill suits the brow where Tenderness and Love
Should dwell distinguish'd: nor can Reason judge
Whose charms superior shine; some dazzling grace,
Still nameless, flashes on th' admiring eye.