24
To you you my soul's affection move,
Devoutly, warmly, true;
My life has been a task of love,
One long, long thought of you.
If all your tender faith is o'er,
If still my truth you'll try,
Alas! I know but one proof more—
I'll bliss your name and die.
Beauty in tears.
O weep not, sweet maid, nor let sorrow ⟨oppress⟩ thee;
Thy innocent bosom should banish all fears:
Kind Heav'n will protect thee, fair virtue ⟨caress⟩ thee,
And angels will pity such beauty in tears.
But some cruel tyrants compassion ne'er cherish
In all their dark actions ambition appears;
They suffer the wretched to languish and perish
And look without pity on beauty in tears.
How blest is the heart which with charity floweth
And tranquil the bosom that virtue reverse!
How sweet is the balm which kind pity bestoweth
To soften the sorrow of beauty in tears!
But some cruel tyrants, &c.
FINIS.
