Vain HOPE! the gay delusions past,
That voice!—ah! no, 'tis but the blast,
Which echoes through the neighbouring grove.
11.
But when awake, your lips I seek,
And clasp enraptur'd all your charms,
So chill's the pressure of your cheek,
I fold a statue in my arms.
12.
If thus, when to my heart embrac'd,