Psyche, and other poems — page 32: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

14 Oh, how unlike the pure transparent stream, Which near it bubbles o’er its golden sands! The impeding stones with pleasant music seem Its progress to detain from other lands ; | And all its banks, inwreathed with flowery bands, Ambrosial fragrance shed in grateful dew: There young Desire enchanted ever stands, Breathing delight and fragrance ever new, And bathed in constant joys of fond affection true. v But not to mortals is it e’er allowed To drink unmingled of that current bright ; Scarce can they taste the pleasurable flood, Defiled by angry Fortune’s envious spite ;_ Who from the cup of amorous delight i Dashes the sparkling draught of brilliant joy, Till, with dull sorrows stream despoiled quite, No more it cheers the soul nor charms the eye, But ’mid the poisoned bowl distrust and anguish lie. _ Here Cupid tempers his unerring darts, And in the fount of bliss delights to play ; Here mingles balmy sighs and pleasing smarts, And here the honied draught will oft allay With that black poison’s all-polluting sway, For wretched man. Hither, as Venus willed, For Psyche’s punishment he bent his way : From either stream his amber vase he filled, | For her were meant the drops which grief alone distilled. ' be Comicbooks:.com