The Columbian Muse, Song

Ye constant to truth and to love! Forgive me this wand'ring of mind— Ah! do not forgive, but approve, And repentance I'll throw to the wind.

In absence from Delia I've wept; I've pin'd at the loss of my fair; Had the vows pledg'd so sacred been kept, My breast had ne'er swell'd with despair!

But no more I repine—for a maid, The sweetest, the lov'liest e'er seen, Has heal'd my heart's wounds as they bled. And bade me no more to complain.

Who the charms of Eliza can paint? Her mind so adorn'd, so improv'd, Her heart to the virtues so bent, Her manners so soft, so belov'd?

What enchantment, what magic her eyes! Tis rapture to see her but move: When she smiles,—nor is great the surprise,— E'en envy is ravish'd to love.

O, hasten ye sweet future hours! To bind the attachment still more— Hear destiny, kindest of pow'rs! 'Tis friendship and love that implore!

Henceforth when keen sorrows aggrieve The heart of her bard—he'll confess, None so keen but the nymph can relieve, And pleasure create from distress.