Alas what tale affrights Lothario’s ear,
Does Eborina quit these plains once more,
I fondly hoped tho’ many a changing year,
To watch her walks by Ouse’s verdant shore.
And tho’ forbade in tender strains to woo
Her virgin love, or weep her cruel scorn
At distance still her beauteous form to view
At evening’s moonlight hour or blushing morn.
With careless grace as blithe she trilled the lay
Her native woods or native meads among
From some near copse to view the songstress gay
And in mute transport listen to her song.
And if neglected love, the theme she chose
And some soft sigh should heave her tender breast
To hope her pity for fictitious woes
Might warm her heart to greet a tenderer guest.
Sometimes I hoped the copse’s verdant screen
Unfaithful might my hidden form betray
Seen by the maid, but not with anger seen
In seeming ignorance she pursued her lay.
Alas those dreams are fled with her who gave
A richer verdure to each sylvan scene
With brighter crystal decked the sparkling wave
And made the sky more lovely, more serene.
Now she is gone no more can nature please
Or artificial beauties soothe my woe,
No glance but hers can give Lothario ease
No other smile on me can joy bestow.
Yet still with lonely steps I frequent rove
Thro’ each loved dell the maid has trod before
And memory shall endear the vale, the grove,
Tho’ smiling hope may gild the scene no more.