The pang, the agony, the doubt,
Which rends my heart with ceaseless sigh,
While day and night roll darkling by.
Without one friend to bear my woe,
I faint, I die, beneath the blow;
That Love had arrows well I knew;
Alas! I find them poisoned, too.
Birds yet in freedom shun the net
Which Love around your haunts hath set;
Or, circled by his fatal fire,