O cruel Fate! who I have lov’d so well!
Endless and sharp will be my woes,
No ray of comfort shall I see;
And yet who knows, alas! who knows
If thou wilt ever think of me!
Still will my fond affection hold thee dear,
And sensibility will draw th’ empassion’d tear.
Pensive along the hollow murmuring shore,
Or woods, and wilds, and solitary glades,
Or night’s dull form, or ev’ning’s grateful shades,