The adieu and recal to love

Go, idle Boy! I quit thy pow'r;

Thy couch of many a thorn and flow'r;

Thy twanging bow, thine arrow keen,

Deceitful Beauty's timid mien;

The feign'd surprize, the roguish leer,

The tender smile, the thrilling tear,

Have now no pangs, no joys for me,

So fare thee well, for I am free!

Then flutter hence on wanton wing,

Or lave thee in yon lucid spring,

Or take thy bev'rage from the rose,

Or on Louisa's breast repose:

I wish thee well for pleasures past,

Yet bless the hour, I'm free at last.

But sure, methinks, the alter'd day

Scatters around a mournful ray;

And chilling ev'ry zephyr blows,

And ev'ry stream untuneful flows;

No rapture swells the linnet's voice,

No more the vocal groves rejoice;

And e'en thy song, sweet Bird of Eve!

With whom I lov'd so oft to grieve,

Now scarce regarded meets my ear,

Unanswer'd by a sigh or tear.

No more with devious step I choose

To brush the mountain's morning dews;

"To drink the spirit of the breeze,"

Or wander midst o'er-arching trees;

Or woo with undisturb'd delight,

The pale-cheek'd Virgin of the Night,

That piercing thro' the leafy bow'r,

Throws on the ground a silv'ry show'r.

Alas! is all this boasted ease

To lose each warm desire to please,

No sweet solicitude to know,

For others' bliss, for others' woe,

A frozen apathy to find,

A sad vacuity of mind?

O hasten back, then, heavenly Boy,

And with thine anguish bring thy joy!

Return with all thy torments here,

And let me hope, and doubt, and fear.

O rend my heart with ev'ry pain!

But let me, let me love again.