O PALLAS! I invoke thy aid!
Vouchsafe to hear a wretched maid,
By tender love deprest;
‘Tis just that thou should’st heal the smart,
Inflicted by thy subtle art,
And calm my troubled breast.
No random shot from CUPID’S bow,
But by thy guidance, soft and slow,
It sunk within my heart;
Thus, Love being arm’d with Wisdom’s force,
In vain I try to stop its course,
In vain repel the dart.
O Goddess, break the fatal league,
Let Love, wiih Folly and Intrigue,
More fit associates find!
And thou alone, within my breast,
O! deign to sooth my griefs to rest,
And heal my tortur’d mind.
From: Swift, Jonathan; Sheridan, Thomas; Nichols, John; Boyle, John; Delany, Patrick; Hawkeswoth, John; Swift, Deane; Bowyer, William; Birch, John and Faulkner, George (eds.), The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 1, 1801, Luke Hansard: London, p. 340.
(https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Works_of_the_Rev._Jonathan_Swift/Volume_1/Life_of_Dr._Swift,_Section_VI#Ode-Spring)
Date: c1715
By: Esther Vanhomrigh (c1688-1723)
From Troubles of The World 