Chapter XVII

Ye dear deceptions! how ye move
The breast to long forgotten love?
Luxurious scenes! how ye excite
The traces of distinct delight!
E'en now around this poor half-frozen heart
Agnizing it's accustom'd smart, 170
Like some mild lambent flame the passion plays;
And, vanquish'd by ideal charms,
I sink in the imagin'd arms
Of some sweet PHILLIS of my youthful days.