This said, the weeping youth again return’d To the clear fountain, where again he burn’d. His tears defaced the surface of the well, With circle after circle as they fell; And now the lovely face but half appears, O’errun with wrinkles and deform’d with tears. “Ah! whither,” cries Narcissus, “dost thou fly? Let me still feed the flame by which I die; Let me still see, though I’m no further bless’d.” Then rends his garment off and beats his breast; His naked bosom redden’d with the blow, In such a blush as purple clusters show, Ere yet the sun’s autumnal heats refine Their sprightly juice, and mellow it to wine; The glowing beauties of his breast he spies, And with a new redoubled passion dies. As wax dissolves, as ice begins to run And trickle into drops before the sun, So melts the youth, and languishes away, His beauty withers, and his limbs decay, And none of those attractive charms remain, To which the slighted Echo sued in vain.