Ye pleasant bowers, remote from strife and noise;

Your shades, the witnesses of many a vow,

Breathed forth in happier days, are irksome now;

Denied that smile 'twas once my heaven to see,

Such scenes, such pleasures, are all past with me.

In vain he leaves me, I shall love him still;

And, though I mourn, not murmur at his will;

I have no cause -- an object all divine,

Might well grow weary of a soul like mine;

Yet pity me, great God! forlorn, alone,

Heartless and hopeless, life and love all gone.