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Then when my tedious hours are past
Be this last blessing given,
I wander to some lonely cell :
I bid the flatterer Hope farewell.
Be all her syren arts forgot
That fill'd my bosom with alrrms : Ah! let her crime a little spot
Be lost amidst her blaze of charms.
As on I wander slow, my sighs
At every step for Cynthia mourn : My anxious heart within me dies,
And sinking, whispers, “Oh, return !"
Deluded heart! thy folly know,
Nor fondly nurse the fatal flame: By absence thou shalt lose thy woe, And only flutter at her name.
Go, tell AMYNTA, gentle swain,
A sigh, or tear, perhaps, she'll give,
Yes, fairest proof of beauty's power,
Dear idol of my panting heart; Nature points this my fatal hour;
And I have lived; and we must part.
While now I take my last adieu,
Heave thou no sigh, nor shed a tear, Lest yet my half-closed eye may view
On earth an objact worth its care.
From jealousy's tormenting strife
For ever be thy bosom freed; That nothing may disturb thy life,
Content I hasten to the dead.
Yet when some better fated youth
Shall with his amorous parley move thee, Reflect one moment on his truth
Who dying thus persists to love thee.
On every hill, in every grove,
Along the margin of each stream,
I mourn, and Damon theme.
Now to the mossy cave I fly,
Where to my swain I oft have sung, Well pleased the browsing goats to spy,
As o'er the airy steep they hang. The mossy cave, the goats remain, But Damon there I seek in vain.
Now through the winding vale I pass,
Apd sigh to see the well-known shade I weep, and kiss the bended grass
Where love and Damon fondly play'd, The vale, the shade, the grass, remain, But Damon there I seek in vain.
From hill, from dale, each charm is fled,
Groves, flocks, and fountains please no more, Each flower in pity droops its head,
All nature does my loss deplore. All, all reproach the faithless swain, Yet Damon still I seek in vain.
In vain you tell your parting lover
Be gentle, and in pity choose