Can soothe to peace th’ imprisoned heart—
By every bitter pang I prove—
Trust not young Glenarvon’s love.
Each brighter, kinder hope forsaking,
Bereft of all that made life dear
My health impaired, my spirit breaking,
Yet still too proud to shed one tear:
O! lady, by my wrongs and woes,
Trust not young Glenarvon’s vows.
And when at length the hand of death