SONG. (Though since I lov'd an age is…)

Though since I lov'd an age is flown, The blissful hour you still postpone; Ah! lovely Maid, no longer frown, But each fond hope with rapture crown.

Nor think, though lur'd by Angel charms, That Time will linger in thy arms; Oh! no; his scythe shall crop the rose That on thy cheek divinely blows.

But ere the russian riot there, To Nature yield, enchanting fair; Nor more my ardent wish reprove, For know, Life's richest boon is Love.