no more,

chain,

And love them most dearly; but yet, Though my heart they enthral, I 'd abandon

them all,

Did they act like your blooming coquette

of spirit,

10

Now join with sable Sympathy,
With cypress crown'd, array'd in weeds,
Who heaves with thee her simple sigh,
Whose breast for every bosom bleeds;
And call thy sylvan female choir,
To mourn a swain for ever gone,
Who once could glow with equal fire,
But bends not now before thy throne.

Ye genial nymphs, whose ready tears
On all occasions swiftly flow,
Whose bosoms heave with fancied fears,
With fancied flames and phrensy glow;
Say, will you mourn my absent name,
Apostate from your gentle train ?
An infant bard at least may claim
From you a sympathetic strain.

Adieu, fond race! a long adieu!

50

60

The hour of fate is hovering nigh; E'en now the gulf appears in view, Where unlamented you must lie: Oblivion's blackening lake is seen, Convulsed by gales you cannot weather; Where you, and eke your gentle queen, Alas! must perish altogether.