Song. Rosina

Ere bright Rosina met my eyes How peaceful pass'd the joyous day! In rural sport I gain'd the prize, Each virgin listen'd to my lay.

But now no more I touch the lyre, No more the rustic sports can please; I live the slave of fond desire, Lost to myself, to mirth, and ease.

The tree that, in a happier hour, Its boughs extended o'er the plain; When blasted by the lightning's pow'r, Nor charm's the eye, nor shades the swain.