University of Virginia Library


119

SONG.

From her, alas! whose smile was love,
I wander to some lonely cell:
My sighs too weak the maid to move,
I bid the flatterer, Hope, farewell.
Be all her siren arts forgot,
That fill'd my bosom with alarms:
Ah! let her crime—a little spot,
Be lost amidst her blaze of charms.
As on I wander slow, my sighs
At ev'ry step for Cynthia mourn:
My anxious heart within me dies,
And sinking, whispers, ‘Oh, return!’
Deluded heart! thy folly know—
Nor fondly nurse the fatal flame—
By absence thou shalt lose thy woe,
And only flutter at her name.