FAIR Sylvia, cease to blame my youth For having loved before; So men, ere they have learned the truth, Strange deities adore. My youth ('tis true) has often ranged, Like bees o'er gaudy flowers; And many thousand loves has changed, Till it was fixed in yours. For, Sylvia, when I saw those eyes, 'Twas soon determined there; Stars might as well forsake the skies, And vanish into air! If I from this great rule do err, New beauties to explore; May I again turn wanderer, And never settle more! |