1   O! had my Fate been join’d with thine,      As once this pledge appear’d a token,   These follies had not, then, been mine,      For, then, my peace had not been broken. 2   To thee, these early faults I owe,      To thee, the wise and old reproving:   They know my sins, but do not know      ’Twas thine to break the bonds of loving. 3   For once my soul, like thine, was pure,      And all its rising fires could smother;   But, now, thy vows no more endure,      Bestow’d by thee upon another. 4   Perhaps, his peace I could destroy,      And spoil the blisses that await him;   Yet let my Rival smile in joy,      For thy dear sake, I cannot hate him. 5   Ah! since thy angel form is gone,      My heart no more can rest with any;   But what it sought in thee alone,      Attempts, alas! to find in many. 6   Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!      ’Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee;   Nor Hope, nor Memory yield their aid,      But Pride may teach me to forget thee. 7   Yet all this giddy waste of years,      This tiresome round of palling pleasures;   These varied loves, these matrons’ fears,      These thoughtless strains to Passion’s measures— 8   If thou wert mine, had all been hush’d:—      This cheek, now pale from early riot,   With Passion’s hectic ne’er had flush’d,      But bloom’d in calm domestic quiet. 9   Yes, once the rural Scene was sweet,      For Nature seem’d to smile before thee;   And once my Breast abhorr’d deceit,—      For then it beat but to adore thee. 10   But, now, I seek for other joys—      To think, would drive my soul to madness;   In thoughtless throngs, and empty noise,      I conquer half my Bosom’s sadness. 11   Yet, even in these, a thought will steal,      In spite of every vain endeavor;   And fiends might pity what I feel—      To know that thou art lost for ever.