Song
The shades of spring’s delicious even
Invited all to soft repose,
I only sighed to listening heaven
In the still grove my bosom’s woes.
My heart’s distress had Fate completed,
Snatched from my sight my best beloved,
And echo’s busy voice repeated
Sweet Mary’s name where’er I roved.
Without her sad the days and dreary,
How cheerless drag life’s moments on,
Of pleasure’s tumults sick and weary,
All blissful thoughts for ever flown!
But still to me more keen the anguish,
With secret grief my heart must swell,
That her for whom I ceaseless languish
I dare not of my passion tell.
No hope my cruel pain disarming,
I live a prey to ceaseless wo,
And Mary, sweet, and fair, and charming,
How much I love her does not know.
How shall I calm this bosom’s raging?
O! how alleviate its smart?
Her tender look, all grief assuaging,
Alone can cure my wounded heart.