5.
Ode! thou hast nothing more to do with me in bale or bliss,
Treat me as one unknown, with her it will not be amiss;
If fearful of offending me, oh seek not to persuade
By citing more my griefs, by them was all this mischief made.
III.
TO HIS LADY.
1.
Given up to my fate, shunning notice, I go
To the woods that first offer their glooms to my eye;
Scattering through them a thousand lamentings of woe
To the wind, on whose wings they but wander to die.
Though thine ear they deserve not, I cannot but sigh
To behold them go ruined the very same way
They would take if redressed, to me back they must fly,
Where, alas, they for ever and ever will stay!
2.
But what shall I do, Lady? where for relief
Can I turn, if thou fail'st my kind angel to be,
Or whose aid will avail me in seasons of grief,
If my mournful complaints find not pity in thee?
Thou alone hold'st my soul so enchanted—I know
From my plaints that thou always turn'st smiling away,
Yet still I adore and plain to thee, as though
Thou would'st really care aught if I perished to-day.