Oh, Time! Thy Merits Who Can Know? Thy Real Nature Who Discover? The Absent Lover Calls Thee Slow, - "Too Rapid," Says The Happy Lover. With Bloom Thy Cheeks Are Now Refin'D, Now To Thine Eye The Tear Is Given; At Once Too Cruel And Too Kind, - A Little Hell, A Little Heaven. Go Then, Thou Charming Myst'Ry, Go! - Yes, Tho' Thou Often Dost Amuse Me, Tho' Many A Joy To Thee I Owe, At Once I Thank Thee And Abuse Thee.