TO LEILA
Leila, with too successful art,
Has spread for me love's cruel snare;
And now, when she has caught my heart,
She laughs, and leaves it to despair.
Thus the poor sparrow pants for breath,
Held captive by a playful boy,
And while it drinks the draught of death,
The thoughtless child looks on with joy.
Ah! were its flutt'ring pinions free,
Soon would it bid its chains adieu,
Or did the child its suff'rings see,
He'd pity and relieve them too.