Ah! let us one, one little hour obey;
To-morrow's tears may wash the stain away.
Air.
Fatigued with life, yet loth to part,
On Hope the wretch relies;
And every blow that sinks the heart
Bids the deluder rise.
Hope, like the taper's gleamy light,
Adorns the wretch's way;
And still, as darker grows the night,