Was half so lovely as this gentle maid.—
O soul of all my wishes! I replied,
Can that soft fabric stem Affliction’s tide?
Canst thou, bright pattern of exalted truth,
To sorrow doom the summer of thy youth,
And I, ingrateful! all that sweetness see
Consigned to lasting misery for me?
Sooner this moment may th’ Eternal doom
Palemon in the silent earth entomb;
Attest, thou moon, fair regent of the night!