Fugitive Pieces

trac'd,
You may be prudent, fair, and chaste,
But ah! my girl, you _do not love_.

TO MARIA ----

Since now the hour is come at last,
When you must quit your anxious lover,
Since now, our dream of bliss is past,
One pang, my girl, and all is over.

Alas! that pang will be severe,
Which bids us part, to meet no more;
Which tears me far from _one_ so dear,
_Departing_ for a distant shore.

Well! we have pass'd some happy hours,
And joy will mingle with our tears;
When thinking on these ancient towers,
The shelter of our infant years.

Where from this gothic casement's height,
We view'd the lake, the park, the dell,
And still though tears obstruct our sight,
We lingering look a last farewell.--

O'er fields, through which we us'd to run,
And spend the hours in childish play,
O'er shades where, when our race was done,
Reposing on my breast you lay,

Whilst I, admiring, too remiss,