How Vain the Task Thy Image to Remove

How vain the task thy image to remove
From the firm tablet of my faithful breast!
Thy image, Henry, there by artless love
In early youth's ingenuous hour imprest.
When first my yielding bosom owned thy sway,
Had reason bid the dangerous guest depart,
I might have hoped the dictate to obey;
But now thy empire's fixed within my heart.
So, in its fluid state when amber round
A heedless insect spreads its baneful power,
The fluttering prisoner for destruction bound
Some hand might soon to liberty restore.
But when the fluid hardens round its prize,
All chance for freedom lost, the victim yields and dies.