O! had my Fate been join`d with thine,
As once this pledge appear`d a token,
These follies had not, then, been mine,
For, then, my peace had not been broken.
To thee, these early faults I owe,
To thee, the wise and old reproving:
They know my sins, but do not know
`Twas thine to break the bonds of loving.
For once my soul, like thine, was pure,
And all its rising fires could smother;
But, now, thy vows no more endure,
Bestow`d by thee upon another.
Perhaps, his peace I could destroy,
And spoil the blisses that await him;
Yet let my Rival smile in joy,
For thy dear sake, I cannot hate him.
Ah! since thy angel form is gone,
My heart no more can rest with any;
But what it sought in thee alone,
Attempts, alas! to find in many.
Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
`Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee;
Nor Hope, nor Memory yield their aid,
But Pride may teach me to forget thee.
Yet all this giddy waste of years,
This tiresome round of palling pleasures;
These varied loves, these matrons` fears,
These thoughtless strains to Passion`s measures -
If thou wert mine, had all been hush`d: -
This cheek, now pale from early riot,
With Passion`s hectic ne`er had flush`d,
But bloom`d in calm domestic quiet.
Yes, once the rural Scene was sweet,
For Nature seem`d to smile before thee;
And once my Breast abhorr`d deceit, -
For then it beat but to adore thee.
But, now, I seek for other joys -
To think, would drive my soul to madness;
In thoughtless throngs, and empty noise,
I conquer half my Bosom`s sadness.
Yet, even in these, a thought will steal,
In spite of every vain endeavor;
And fiends might pity what I feel -
To know that thou art lost for ever.
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