Ah! the shepherd's mournful fate!
When doom'd to love, and doom'd to languish,
To bear the scornful fair one's hate,
Nor dare disclose his anguish.
Yet eager looks, and dying sighs,
My secret soul discover,
While rapture trembling thro' my eyes
Reveals how much I love her.
The tender glance; the redd'ning cheek,
O'erspread with rising blushes,
A thousand various ways they speak
A thousand various wishes.
For, oh! that form so heavenly fair,
Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling,
That artless blush, and modest air,
So artfully beguiling! [2]
Thy every look and every grace
So charms whene'er I view thee,
Till death o'ertake me in the chase
Still will my hopes pursue thee;
Then when my tedious hours are past
Be this last blessing given,
Low at thy feet to breathe my last,
And die in sight of heaven.

[Footnote 2: "Ars celare artem."]