The active agony of grief Retards, but never counts the hour. That beam hath sunk, and now thou art Thine efforts shortly shall be shown, 4. A bird of free and careless wing I burn, and feebly flutter there. 5. Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain, The cold repulse, the look askance, 6. In flattering dreams I deem'd thee mine; 7. My light of life! ah, tell me why And art thou changed, and canst thou hate? A SONG. 1. THOU art not false, but thou art fickle, "Tis this which breaks the heart thou grievest, Too well thou lov'st-too soon thou leavest. 2. The wholly false the heart despises, 3. To dream of joy and wake to sorrow |