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'O charitable Echo! hear,
and sing
'This ditty to her!- tell her'- so I stay'd
My foolish tongue, and listening, half afraid,
Stood stupefied with my own empty folly,
And blushing for the freaks of melancholy.
Salt tears were coming, when I heard my name
Most fondly lipp'd, and then these accents came:
'Endymion! the cave is secreter
'Than the Isle of Delos. Echo hence shall stir
'No sighs but sigh-warm kisses, or light noise
'Of thy combing hand, the while it travelling cloys
'And trembles through my labyrinthine hair.' |
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