THE
RECANTATION
.
AN
ODE
.
BY
—
.
BY
Love
too
long
depriv'd
of
rest
,
(
Fell
tyrant
of
the
human
breast
!
)
His
vassal
long
,
and
worn
with
pain
,
Indignant
late
I
spurn'd
the
chain
;
In
verse
,
in
prose
,
I
sung
and
swore
No
charms
should
e'er
enslave
me
more
,
Nor
neck
,
nor
hair
,
nor
lip
,
nor
eye
,
Again
should
force
one
tender
sigh
.
As
,
taught
by
Heaven's
informing
power
,
From
every
fruit
and
every
flower
,
That
nature
opens
to
the
view
,
The
bee
extracts
the
nectar-dew
;
A
vagrant
thus
,
and
free
to
change
,
From
fair
to
fair
I
vow'd
to
range
,
And
part
from
each
without
regret
As
pleas'd
and
happy
as
I
met
.
Then
Freedom's
praise
inspir'd
my
tongue
,
With
Freedom's
praise
the
vallies
rung
,
And
every
night
and
every
day
My
heart
thus
pour'd
th'
enraptur'd
lay
;
"
My
cares
are
gone
,
my
sorrows
cease
,
"
My
breast
regains
its
wonted
peace
,
"
And
joy
and
hope
returning
prove
,
"
That
Reason
is
too
strong
for
Love
.
"
Such
was
my
boast
—
but
,
ah
!
how
vain
!
How
short
was
Reason's
vaunted
reign
!
The
firm
resolve
I
form'd
ere-while
,
How
weak
,
oppos'd
to
Clara's
smile
!
Chang'd
is
the
strain
—
The
vallies
round
With
Freedom's
praise
no
more
refound
,
But
every
night
and
every
day
My
full
heart
pour'd
the
alter'd
lay
.
Offended
deity
,
whose
power
My
rebel
tongue
but
now
forswore
,
Accept
my
penitence
sincere
,
My
crime
forgive
,
and
grant
my
prayer
!
Let
not
thy
slave
,
condemn'd
to
mourn
,
With
unrequited
passion
burn
;
With
Love's
soft
thoughts
her
breast
inspire
,
And
kindle
there
an
equal
fire
!
It
is
not
beauty's
gaudy
flower
.
(
The
empty
triumph
of
an
hour
)
Nor
practis'd
wiles
of
female
art
,
That
now
subdue
my
destin'd
heart
:
O
no
!
—
'Tis
Heaven
,
whose
wondrous
hand
A
transcript
of
itself
hath
plann'd
,
And
to
each
outward
grace
hath
join'd
Each
lovelier
feature
of
the
mind
.
These
charms
shall
last
,
when
others
fly
,
When
roses
fade
,
and
lilies
die
;
When
that
dear
eye's
declining
beam
Its
living
fire
no
more
shall
stream
:
Blest
then
,
and
happy
in
my
chain
,
The
fong
of
Freedom
flows
in
vain
;
Nor
Reason's
harsh
reproof
I
fear
,
For
Reason's
self
is
Passion
here
.
O
dearer
far
than
wealth
or
fame
,
My
daily
thought
,
my
nightly
dream
,
If
yet
no
youth's
successful
art
(
Sweet
Hope
)
hath
touch'd
thy
gentle
heart
,
If
yet
no
swain
hath
blest
thy
choice
,
Indulgent
hear
thy
Damon's
voice
;
From
doubts
,
from
fears
his
bosom
free
,
And
bid
him
live
—
for
Love
and
Thee
!