SONG.—By Mrs. G——— C——.
Fortune, all thy gifts are vain,
All thy joys but transient shew;
Can you free this heart from pain?
Can you ought of bliss bestow?
No, this wretched heart can tell,
All your boasted joys are poor;
Stings there are, you can’t repel,
Blessings lost, you cant restore.
Cease, Enchantress, to deceive,
Cheat not thus, mankind to woo;
Lure not votaries to believe,
Happiness depends on you:
For this wretched heart can tell,
All thy boasted joys are poor:
Stings there are, you can’t repel,
Blessings lost, you can’t restore!