76
SONGS.
All that I can, to thee I give,
And could I ſtill to reaſon live
I were thy captive yet.
But paſſion's wild impetuous ſea
Hurries me far from peace and thee;
'Twere vain to ſtruggle more:
Thus the poor ſailor ſlumbering lies,
While ſwelling tides around him riſe,
And puſh his bark from ſhore.
In vain he ſpreads his helpleſs arms,
His pitying friends with fond alarms
In vain deplore his ſtate;
Still far and farther from the coaſt,
On the high ſurge his bark is toſt,
And foundering yields to fate.
