Oh! 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]1 reproving:
They know my sins, but do not know
  'T was thine to break the [bonds]2 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,
  'T were 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 matron's 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 heart abhorr'd deceit, --
  For then it beat but to adore thee.

But now I [seek]3 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]4, even in these a thought will steal,
  In spite of every vain endeavour, --
And fiends might pity what I feel, --
  To know that thou art lost for ever.