Page:Poems Nealds.djvu/68

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42

And, wrapt in sweet security,
Thy falsehood ne'er could see.

But soon those hours of pleasure fled,
And we were doom'd to part;
Oh! how my faithful bosom bled!
How sorrow rack'd my heart!

How often, when bright Phœbus set
In the empurpled west;
The anguish'd sigh of fond regret
Would rend my heaving breast!

For at that soft and quiet hour
We've watch'd the day's decline,
And seen on ev'ry shrub and flow'r
The silver moon-beams shine.