Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
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And that most godlike brow , With its straight pencilled arch , Shadowing long lids below , Deep set within its porch ,
Minerva ' s statue gave That noble frontal cast , Might make a coward brave , Who , gazing , gazed his last .
Like tendrils , thy long tresses Are twined around thy head ; How I envy those caresses , Though every hope be dead !
The curving of thy lip Is like love ' s fatal bow , With the arrow on the slip , Like the death-shaft of a foe .
Though motionless , thine speaks While others' lips are mute ; Each ear the wished sound seeks , As the music of a lute .
Hark I r . ow the words are flowing In wisdom ' s graceful speech . Lip , cheek , and eye , are glowing , Oh ! thus , thus , ever teach *
And proselytes m numbers Will round about thee herd , E ' en the dull will leave their slumbers , And worship at thy word .
Oh ! where , where wast thou hidden , That I knew thee not before ? Why , wh y was I not bidden , Unto thy maiden bower ?
In the desert had we met , My heart on thine had stricken ; I know thee , all too late , Yet still wild love must quicken !
I cannot choose but love thee , My bosom to thee yearns , Yet seek I not to move thee , My brain in anguish burns !
Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), March 2, 1833, page 212, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2610/page/68/