A Song

A SONG

At night, when each mortal is laid to repose, My breast ever throbs, and my eyes never close; I wander alone, my fond heart to console, And think on Alexis, the pride of my soul.

Then farewel, my love, my Alexis, adieu! For I breathe without feeling since banish'd from you.

In vain the soft zephyr waves over my head, And the moon's pallid glory beams through the dark shade; For the mild orb of even is lost to my view, And the wind blows too rudely when absent from you.

At morn when gay Phoebus brings vigour and light, I view the sweet scene with a languid delight; For my eyes stream with anguish as oft as I see The smiles of the morning, which mind me of thee.

My heart with the ocean I'm apt to compare, Where the sun brings relief in the midst of despair; So thy image reflected relieves my distress, And kindles emotions I cannot express.

I wander unmov'd by the murmuring rill; What made my heart flutter now makes it lie still; With coldness uncommon these pleasures I view; I think on the castle, the cottage, and you.

I shun the gay circle wherever they come, They tell me I'm sullen, ill-natur'd, and dumb; I sigh and say nothing; for what can I do? Yet my eyes surely answer I'm thinking on you.

But why should I languish? I'll go and be prest To the parent of nature, and lie on her breast: She'll tell me how vain are the hopes I pursue; For life's but a labour when absent from you!

No longer Louisa shall sigh for her swain, Nor her feelings be hurt with contempt and disdain; In the cold arms of death no rude passion shall wound; Tho' her pillow be damp, yet her sleep shall be sound.

Then farewel, my love, my Alexis adieu! For I soon will crease breathing since banish'd from you!