SONG
IV
.
WHEN
gentle
CELIA
first
I
knew
,
A
breast
so
good
,
so
kind
,
so
true
,
Reason
and
taste
approv'd
;
Pleas'd
to
indulge
so
pure
a
flame
,
I
call'd
it
by
too
soft
a
name
,
And
fondly
thought
I
lov'd
.
Till
CHLORIS
came
,
with
sad
surprise
I
felt
the
light'ning
of
her
eyes
Thro'
all
my
senses
run
;
All
glowing
with
resistless
charms
,
She
fill'd
my
breast
with
new
alarms
,
I
saw
,
and
was
undone
.
O
CELIA
!
dear
unhappy
maid
,
Forbear
the
weakness
to
upbraid
Which
ought
your
scorn
to
move
;
I
know
this
beauty
false
and
vain
,
I
know
she
triumphs
in
my
pain
,
Yet
still
I
feel
I
love
.
Thy
gentle
smiles
no
more
can
please
,
Nor
can
thy
softest
friendship
ease
The
torments
I
endure
;
Think
what
that
wounded
breast
must
feel
Which
truth
and
kindness
cannot
heal
,
Nor
even
thy
pity
cure
.
Oft
shall
I
curse
my
iron
chain
,
And
wish
again
thy
milder
reign
With
long
and
vain
regret
;
All
that
I
can
,
to
thee
I
give
,
And
could
I
still
to
reason
live
I
were
thy
captive
yet
.
But
passion's
wild
impetuous
sea
Hurries
me
far
from
peace
and
thee
;
'Twere
vain
to
struggle
more
:
Thus
the
poor
sailor
slumbering
lies
,
While
swelling
tides
around
him
rise
,
And
push
his
bark
from
shore
.
In
vain
he
spreads
his
helpless
arms
,
His
pitying
friends
with
fond
alarms
In
vain
deplore
his
state
;
Still
far
and
farther
from
the
coast
,
On
the
high
surge
his
bark
is
tost
,
And
foundering
yields
to
fate
.