And may she, as alone she strays,

His form in Fancy's mirror see;

But, who can tell if she I praise

Will lend the mutual thought to me?

Her swain, through many a distant land
Wandering, immers'd in deep distress,

Will of each tree, each rock, demand

"Say where's my beauteous Shepherdess?"

And every hour from eve till morn,

My constant mind will fix on thee;—

Yet-will the Maid for whom I burn,

Bestow the mutual thought on me?

Each well known bank where once we stray'd,

Oft will my anxious thoughts review;

For happy there the moments fled

For Nice! there they pass'd with you :

A thousand pangs my breast will tear,

When faithful Memory points to thee;

But who can say my gentle Fair,

Will lend the mutual thought to me?

Oft will Idea paint the stream,

Where once I died of cold disdain ;

Where since, (a pledge of fond esteem,)

Your hand you kindly gave your swain :

Here, fears my doubting breast would move

There, hope would more propitious be;—

But who can tell if she I love,

Will lend the mutual thought to me?:

Ah! think that Cupid's pleasing dart

Phileno's breast must ever prove!

Consider that thy Shepherd's heart,

Tho' hope should cease, is doom'd to love!

Ah! think what pangs his bosom rend,

Condemn'd to part with all in thee!

And who can say my gentle friend,

Will lend the mutual thought to me?

You'd think,-(so sweet the hours would move)

Relinquish then, deluded swain,

Pursuits so trivial and so vain ;

Participated joys, bestow

More bliss than Solitude can know :

To higher, sweeter, pleasures move-
And own no bliss like that of love.

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