(By transports measur’d) lightly danc’d away;
To love, to bliss, the union’d soul was given,
And each! too happy, ask’d no brighter heaven.
“And must the hours in ceaseless anguish roll?
Will no soft sunshine cheer my clouded soul?
Can this dear earth no transient joy supply?
Is it my doom to hope, despair and die?
Oh! come, once more, with soft endearments come,
Burst the cold prison of the sullen tomb;
Through favour’d walks, thy chosen maid attend,