No more, my Mary, I sigh for splendour

No more, my Mary, I sigh for splendour,

And riot's joys no longer prize:

On thee I muse in visions tender,

Or gaze on thy fond eyes.

Oh! Not the sages

With pedant pages,

'Tis thy soft smiles

Have made me wise.

For life's delusions of joy had left me;

With sated heart I turn'd to pine -

A faded world I thought was left me,

Tho'all its pleasure mine.

O hours of folly!

Of melancholy!

How chang'd for bliss, -

For love like thine.