Song

If stormy, o’er enamell’d vales, Keen Eurus sweeps with blighting sway, When Zephyr’s mild and balmy gales Had waked the bloom of orient May,

That orient bloom at once is lost, She droops forlorn in silent bowers; And sighs, amid untimely frost, For glowing suns and silver showers.

So droops my heart, that trembling feels The power of Stella’s icy scorn; Each rising joy her frown repels, And wintry grows my summer morn.

Ah, Stella! cold and cruel maid! Eternal shall that winter prove? And wretched in the lonely glade Must injured Truth despair of Love?