Where the gay moments that I once have known
O where the heart I fondly thought my own!
I scorn the beauties other eyes adore;
The more I view them, I feel thy worth the more
Unmov’d I hear them speak, or see them fair—
I only think of thee, who art not there.
When from thy sight I waste a tedious day,
A thousand schemes I form, or things to say;
But when thy presence gives the time I seek,
My heart’s so full—I wish—but cannot speak.
A heart there is, which I would woo—
That heart belongs, dear maid, to you;
Full long I’ve chas’d it, with regret,
For I have never caught it yet;
But by this Valentine, ’tis plain,
That heart I now pursue again;
May I by no repulse be crost,
For if I lose it, I am lost.
Could you persuade the constant dove
To leave his mate, inconstant prove,
And lonely through the woodlands rove,
I might deceive the maid I love;
But ne’er till then will I agree
To quit my love, to part with thee.
Love thee! yes, dear lovely maid,
Thee I’ll love, and only thee;
And, whatever cares invade,
Happy in tby love of me.
Love thee! yes, with love replete
Still for thee my heart shall glow,
Till my pulse forgets to beat,
Or the streams of life to flow.
