  Ariste! soon to sojourn with the crowd, In soul abstracted must thy minstrel go; Mix in the giddy, fond, fantastic show, Mix with the gay, the envious, and the proud. I go: but still my soul remains with thee, Still will the eye of fancy paint thy charms, Still, lovely Maid, thy imaged form I see, And every pulse will vibrate with alarms. When scandal spreads abroad her odious tale, When envy at a rival's beauty sighs, When rancour prompts the female tongue to rail, And rage and malice fire the gamester's eyes, I turn my wearied soul to her for ease, Who only names to praise, who only speaks to please. BION. Vignette
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