English poem
THE CHARMS of MELODY, SONG 106
by Anonymous
If o'er the cruel tyrant, love, A conquest I believ'd, The flatt'ring error cease to prove; O! let me be deceiv'd!
Forbear to fan the gentle flame, Which love did first create; What was my pride, is now my shame, And must be turn'd to hate.
And call not to my wav'ring mind The weakness of my heart, Which, ah! I feel too much inclin'd To take a traitor's part.