University of Virginia Library

TO CYNTHIA.

O Thou! whose love-inspiring air
Delights, yet gives a thousand woes;
My day declines in dark despair,
And night hath lost her sweet repose;
Yet who, alas! like me was blest
To others e'er thy charms were known;
When fancy told my raptur'd breast,
That Cynthia smil'd on me alone?
Nymph of my soul! forgive my sighs:
Forgive the jealous fires I feel;
Nor blame the trembling wretch, who dies
When others to thy beauties kneel.
Lo! theirs is every winning art,
With fortune's gifts unknown to me!
I only boast a simple heart,
In love with innocence and thee.