1   Doubtless, sweet girl! the hissing lead,      Wafting destruction o’er thy charms,   And hurtling o’er thy lovely head,      Has fill’d that breast with fond alarms. 2   Surely some envious demon’s force,      Vex’d to behold such beauty here,   Impell’d the bullet’s viewless course,      Diverted from its first career. 3   Yes! in that nearly fatal hour      The ball obey’d some hell-born guide;   But Heaven, with interposing power,      In pity turn’d the death aside. 4   Yet, as perchance one trembling tear      Upon that thrilling bosom fell;   Which I, th’ unconscious cause of fear,      Extracted fromn its glistening cell: 5   Say, what dire penance can atone      For such an outrage done to thee?   Arraign’d before thy beauty’s throne,      What punishment wilt thou decree? 6   Might I perform the judge’s part,      The sentence I should scarce deplore;   It only would restore a heart      Which but belong’d to thee before. 7   The least atonement I can make      Is to become no longer free;   Henceforth I breathe but for thy sake,      Thou shalt be all in all to me. 8   But thou, perhaps, may’st now reject      Such expiation of my guilt;   Come then, some other mode elect;      Let it be death, or what thou wilt. 9   Choose then, relentless! and I swear      Naught shall thy dread decree prevent;   Yet hold—one little word forbear!      Let it be aught but banishment.