When Mortals all to rest retire

When mortals all to rest retire,

o Moon! Thou hear'st my

whisp'ring lyre:

to thee I wake the mpurnful lay;

for sure thou lookst as if thy ray

would confort, if it could,

convey, and happier songs inspire.

And I will happier be;

my heart, though late, shall wisdom learn,

from love's delusions free:

my siprit shall in dignant burn,

and I with maiden pride will spurn

his strange inconstancy.

Roll on ye hours! And back restore

the peaceful thoughts I knew before,

when smil'd the arts, when charm'd the muse,

when morn for me had beauteous hues,

and evening could her calm

diffuse my ardent bosom o'er.

But Love! Thou fiend of pain!

I feel the tears

of anguish start how hard my peace to gain!

O fiend and tyrant as thou art!

That wring'st from my unwilling

heart the sighs that I disdain.