The Nun's Complaint

In this sad and silent gloom, Lost Louisa pines unknown, Shrouded in a living tomb, Doom'd to pine alone: 'Midst the silent shades of woe, Tears of fond regret shall flow: Tell, soft lute, in plaintive tone, Sad Louisa's hapless moan, 'Midst the silent shades of woe, Still the tears must flow.

Ye dark clouds that sail along, Hide me in your shade profound; Whisp'ring breezes bear my song, To the woods around: Should some pensive lover's feet, Wander near this sad retreat, Tell, soft lute, &c.

Tell her love's celestial tale, Yields no bliss, no joy inspires; Cold religion's icy veil, Darkens all his fires: No soft ray adorns the gloom, Round the hapless vestal's tomb: Tell, soft lute, &c.

Fancy's flame within my breast, Faintly glows with vital heat; Tender passions sink to rest, Soft my pulses beat: Soon these languid eyes shall close, Death's cold dart my eyes shall close; Tell, soft lute, &c.