SONGS.
121
Love heard, and ſtraight prepar’d a dart:
“Mira, revenge my cauſe,” ſaid he.
Too ſure ’t was ſhot; I feel the ſmart,
It rends my brain, and tears my heart,
O Love! my conqu’ror, pity me.10
SONG. TO MIRA.
Forſaken of my kindly ſtars,
Within this melancholy grove
I waſte my days and nights in tears,
A victim to ingrateful Love.
The happy ſtill untimely end:5
Death flies from grief; or why ſhould I
So many hours in ſorrow ſpend,
Wiſhing, alas! in vain to die?
Ye Powers! take pity of my pain;
This, only this, is my deſire;10
Ah! take from Mira her diſdain,
Or let me with this ſigh expire.12
