Of late I met a damsel lowly born,
Yet trim her gait, and dainty was her air!
With blushing looks so sweet, and cheek so fair,
As well might vie with rosy-featur'd Morn!
Her locks like gold, her eyes like gems of dew!
Alas too soon their glances won my heart,
While softer glances still increase my smart,
And as the charmer look'd, my passion grew!
And now no nymph like her my bosom sways!
Yet higher nymphs than her my heart have won!
But yet so shines to me this nymph alone,
Methinks I'd write a volume in her praise!
But ah! — how soon love's pleasing visions fade,
While I with dark distress and penury pine!
To-day's misfortunes fell (hard fate of mine!)
Blot the dear visions yesterday had made.

Alas I seek those flowery scenes in vain,
Which once in youth beguil'd my lingering hours!
No more I sing of love, or vernal bowers,
No more I tread youth's primrose-path again!
Lo now the summer smiles, and all is joy,
While still I tune the sad complaining lyre!
Complaint to me is more than epic fire,
And tears instead of smiles my lov'd employ!
While others climb the shining paths of fame,
I fast and faster steal t' oblivion's shade,
Soon shall I hide me with the silent dead,
With not a grave-stone left to tell my name!
Yet haply then, tho' low in dust I lie,
Some fond-admiring wight that reads my lore
May recognize me with the bards of yore,
And pay my last remains a passing sigh!

Oh Nature, to my eyes most welcome still,
With all thy gaudy hues and bloomy vales,
Thy airy mountains wild, and fragrant gales,
Thy walks by meadow green, or mossy rill!
Yet vain to me is now your boasted skill,
To cheer a heart with sorrow woe-begone!
Nor you, nor dearer mortals, hear my moan,
While the lone waste my fond complainings fill!
Oh then to Him above my plaint I'll bear,
Who knows my grievings best, and best can soothe,
Who knew my riper years and earlier youth,
One scene of empty joys, and sorrows drear!
By Him alone the storms of fate I brave,
'Tis He alone from death my dying soul can save!