Air XXVII

Wert thou like me in life's low vale,

With thee, how blest! that life I'd share:

With thee I'd fly as far as gale

Could waft, or swelling ocean bear.

But parted by severe decree,

Far different must our fortunes prove;

May thine be joy! enough for me

To weep and pray for him I love.

The pangs this foolish heart may feel,

When hope must be for ever gone,

No fruitless sorrow shall reveal,

No sullen murmur ever own.

Nor will I thro' my weary years,

As a pale drooping mourner rove,

While I can think my secret tears

Are not forgot by him I love.