The American Songster, Song

When once I with Phillida stray'd, Where rivers run murmuring by, And heard the soft vows that she made, What swain was so happy as I? My breast was a stranger to care, For my wealth by her kisses I told; I thought myself richer, by far, Than he that had mountains of gold.

But now I am poor and undone Her vows have prov'd empty and vain; The kisses I once thought my own, Are bestow'd on a happier swain: But cease, gentle shepherd, to deem Her vows shall be constant and true; They're false as a midsummer dream, As fickle as midsummer dew.

O Phillis, so fickle and fair, Why did you my love then approve? Had you frown'd on my suit, thro' despair, I soon had forgotten to love: You smil'd, and your smiles were so sweet, You spoke, and your words were so kind, I could not suspect the deceit. But gave my loose sails to the wind.

When tempests the ocean deform, And billows so mountainous roar, The pilot, secur'd from the storm, Ne'er ventures his bark from the shore, A soon as soft breezes arise, And smiles the false face of the sea, His art he, too credulous, tries, And, sailing, is shipwreck'd, like me.