Like frightened fawn, when on the mountain air
The crashing hunt comes sweeping near its lair,
Trembling it stands, uncertain which to fly,
The rustling leaves, or stag-hounds dreadful cry,
So thou, my Chloe, when thy swain appears,
Thy pallid checks disclose full well thy fears;
Thy trembling steps, thy downcast eyes, attest
The tumults that assail thy tender breast.
Wherefore this causeless fear? this false alarm?
Thou surely canst not think I’d do thee harm?
When thy fond swain with eager steps draws nigh,
With greater signs of fear, thou wouldst not fly
Gætulia’s lion, with its dreadful roar—
Helvetia’s wolf or Thracia’s savage boar.
Oh! calm thy fears and yield me up thy charms—
Forsake thy mother’s for thy lover’s arms.
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