And the old willow, ’neath whose spreading shade
She own’d her love—again her voice he hears,
He starts—alas! the vision only fades
To leave regretful pangs for early years.
It was his idle vanity that changed
The pure, deep feelings of her trusting heart,
Whose faithful love, not even in thought had ranged,
But worship’d him, from all the world apart;
Now cold and altered is her beaming eye,
And no fond hope his aching bosom cheers