With joys that guilty pleasure never felt;
Formed to refine the thought with chaste desire,
And kindle sweet Affection’s purest fire.
Ah! wherefore should my hopeless love, she cries,
While sorrow bursts with interrupting sighs,—
For ever destined to lament in vain,
Such flattering, fond ideas entertain;
My heart through scenes of fair illusion stray’d,
To joys, decreed for some superior maid.
’Tis mine abandoned to severe distress