In vain to this desert my fate I deplore

In vain to this desert my fate I deplore,

For dark is the wildwood, and bleak is the shore;

The rude blasts I hear, and the white waves I see,

But nought that gives shelter or confort to me.

O love! Thou hast pleasures, and deep have I lov'd,

I love! Thou hast sorrows, and sore Have I prov'd:

But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast,

I can feel, by its throbbing, will soon be at rest.

When clos'd are those eyes, that but open to weep,

With my woes and my wrongs I shall peacefully sleep;

But the thorn my inkindness first plac'd in my heart,

Transplanted to thine, shall new anguish impart.