No more these groves a glad remembrance claim
Where grief consumes a half deluded dame,
Whom to these isles a modern Theseus bore,
And basely left, frail virtue to deplore;—
In foreign climes detained from all she loved,
By friends neglected, long by Fortune proved,
While sad and solemn passed the unwelcome day
What charms had life for her, to tempt her stay?
Deceived in all; for meanness could deceive,
Expecting still, and still condemned to grieve,
She scarcely saw—to different hearts allied
That her dear Florio ne'er pursued a bride!
Are griefs, like thine, to Florio's bosom known?—
Must these, alas! be ceaseless in your own?
Life is a dream!—its varying shades I see;
But this cold wanderer hardly dreams of thee—
The bloom of health, which bade all hearts adore,
To your pale cheek what physic shall restore?
Vain are those drugs that art and love prepares,
No art redeems the waste of sighs and tears!