IN Septimius’ lap entwining, | |
| While his Acme sank reclining; | |
| “If I love thee not,” he cried, | |
| “Oh my Acme! oh my bride! | |
| Even to perdition love thee, | 5 |
| And shall feel thy beauties move me, | |
| As the rapid years roll by, | |
| Like men, who love distractedly; | |
| Then, where Afric sands are spread, | |
| Or India’s sun flames overhead, | 10 |
| May a lion cross me there, | |
| With his green-eyed angry glare.” | |
| Love stood listening in delight, | |
| And sneezed his auspices on the right. | |
| |
| Acme, as her lover said, | 15 |
| Lightly bending back her head, | |
| And with lips of ruby skimming | |
| His tipsy eyes, in pleasure swimming; | |
| “Septimillus! darling mine! | |
| So may we thus ever twine, | 20 |
| Victims vow’d at Cupid’s shrine, | |
| As, with still more keen requitals, | |
| Thou art felt within my vitals!” | |
| Love stood listening in delight, | |
| And sneezed his auspice on the right. | 25 |
| |
| In the heavenly omen blest, | |
| They love, caressing and carest; | |
| The poor youth would lightlier prize | |
| Syria’s groves than Acme’s eyes; | |
| Acme centres in the boy | 30 |
| All her longings, all her joy; | |
| Who more bless’d has mortals seen? | |
| When has a kinder passion been? | |
| |
