Sweet as the sleep of innocence the day,
By transports measured, lightly danced away;
To love, to bliss, the unioned soul was given,
And--ah, too happy!--asked no brighter heaven.
And must the hours in ceaseless anguish roll?
Will no soft sunshine cheer my clouded soul?
Can this dear earth no transient joy supply?
Is it my doom to hope, despair, and die?
O, come once more, with soft endearments come;
Burst the cold prison of the sullen tomb;
Through favored walks thy chosen maid attend
Where well-known shades their pleasing branches bend;
Shed the soft poison of thy speaking eye,
And look those raptures lifeless words deny.
Still he, though late, reheard what ne'er could tire,
But, told each eve, fresh pleasures would inspire;
Still hope those scenes which love and fancy drew,
But, drawn a thousand times, were ever new.

Can fancy paint, can words express,
Can aught on earth my woes redress?
E'en thy soft smiles can ceaseless prove
Thy truth, thy tenderness, and love.
Once thou couldst every bliss inspire,
Transporting joy and gay desire;
Now cold Despair her banner rears,
And Pleasure flies when she appears;
Fond Hope within my bosom dies,
And Agony her place supplies.