Still o’er the fountain’s watery gleam he stood, Mindless of sleep, and negligent of food, Still view’d his face, and languish’d as he view’d. At length he raised his head, and thus began To vent his griefs, and tell the woods his pain: “You trees,” says he, “and thou surrounding grove, Who oft have been the kindly scenes of love, Tell me, if e’er within your shades did lie A youth so tortured, so perplex’d as I? I, who before me see the charming fair, While there he stands, and yet he stands not there: In such a maze of love my thoughts are lost; And yet no bulwark’d town nor distant coast Preserves the beauteous youth from being seen, No mountains rise nor oceans flow between; A shallow water hinders my embrace, And yet the lovely mimic wears a face That kindly smiles, and when I bend to join My lips to his, he fondly bends to mine. Hear, gentle youth, and pity my complaint; Come from thy well, thou fair inhabitant. My charms an easy conquest have obtain’d O’er other hearts, by thee alone disdain’d. But why should I despair? I’m sure he burns