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RAPE OF THE LOCK.
But anxious cares the pensive nymph opprest,
E'er felt such rage, resentment, and despair,
For, that sad moment, when the sylphs withdrew,
Swift on his sooty pinions flits the gnome, And in a vapour reach'd the dismal dome. No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows, The dreaded east is all the wind that blows. Here in a grotto, shelter'd close from air, And screen'd in shades from day's detested glare, She sighs for ever on her pensive bed, Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head.
Two handmaids wait the throne; alike in place,
A constant vapour o'er the palace flies;