  On thy grassy altar, dear, Pour I out the two-year wine, And the incense rises clear From thy holy shrine. Lend me Venus, both thine ears; Let me whisper unto thee All the hopes and all the fears Raging now in me. He whom I have loved so well— For whose love my soul hath burned, Yields to Chloe’s fatal spell And my vows hath spurned. On her beauty now his eyes Beam as once they beamed on mine— Broken are the solemn ties Made beneath the vine. It cannot be that he is born All my joy to turn to grief, For if he do prove forsworn— Death is my relief. Mother Venus, look with smiles, Lest I lose this joy of love: Lend me all thy wit and wiles His cold heart to move. Bless this philtre I prepare From the swift and sweet vervain; Mother Venus, hear my prayer— Lead him back again! |
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