The weapons were only frowns and
angry glances--
"A beau and witling perished in the throng,
One died in metaphor, and one in song.
. . . . .
A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards cast,
'Those eyes were made so killing,' was his last."
Belinda, however, at length disarmed the Baron with a pinch of
snuff, and threatened his life with a hair pin. And so the
battle ends. But alas!--
"The lock, obtained with guilt and kept with pain,
In ev'ry place is sought, but sought in vain."
During the fight it has been caught up to the skies--
"A sudden star, it shot through liquid air,
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair."
Thus, says the poet, Belinda has no longer need to mourn her lost
lock, for it will be famous to the end of time as a bright star
among the stars--
"Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy ravished hair,
Which adds new glory to the starry sphere!
Not all the tresses that fair head can boast,
Shall draw such envy as the lock you lost.
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