1   Lesbia! since far from you I’ve ranged,      Our souls with fond affection glow not;   You say ’tis I, not you, have changed,      I’d tell you why,—but yet I know not. 2   Your polish’d brow no cares have crost;      And, Lesbia! we are not much older,   Since, trembling, first my heart I lost,      Or told my love, with hope grown bolder. 3   Sixteen was then our utmost age,      Two years have lingering past away, love!   And now new thoughts our minds engage,      At least I feel disposed to stray, love! 4   ’Tis I that am alone to blame,      I, that am guilty of love’s treason;   Since your sweet breast is still the same,      Caprice must be my only reason. 5   I do not, love! suspect your truth,      With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not;   Warm was the passion of my youth,      One trace of dark deceit it leaves not. 6   No, no, my flame was not pretended,      For, Oh! I loved you most sincerely;   And—though our dream at last is ended—      My bosom still esteems you dearly. 7   No more we meet in yonder bowers;      Absence has made me prone to roving;   But older, firmer hearts than ours      Have found monotony in loving. 8   Your cheek’s soft bloom is unimpair’d,      New beauties still are daily bright’ning,   Your eye for conquest beams prepared,      The forge of love’s resistless lightning. 9   Arm’d thus, to make their bosoms bleed,      Many will throng to sigh like me, love!   More constant they may prove, indeed;      Fonder, alas! they ne’er can be, love!