OFT have I sung and mourned the bitter woes,
Which Love for years hath mingled with my fate,
While he the tale forbade me to disclose,
That taught his votaries their deluded state.
Nymphs! who dispense Castalia's living stream,
Ye, who from Death oblivion's mantle steal,
Grant me a strain in powerful tone supreme,
Each grief by love inflicted to reveal:
That those, whose ardent hearts adore his sway,
May hear experience breathe a warning lay.
How false his smiles, his promises how vain!
Then, if ye deign this effort to inspire,
When the sad task is o'er, my plaintive lyre,
For ever hushed, shall slumber in your fane.