182 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Art thou, too, as the faithless things, That fleet on fickle pleasure's wings; Art thou a bird, that only sings !u greenest bowers; And, ere the milder seasons fail, Flies, like the timorous nightingale, Who only charms*the listening vale In vernal hours ? Oh, I believ'd thou wert the friend, Who would my weary steps attend, Ev'n 'till they falter'd to the end Of life's dull plain; That thou wouldst teach me still to speak Woes, which, unspoken, would but break The heart, to o early t?ught to ache In silent pain. The wreaths of F?me I will resign, Which once I deem'd thy hand might twine, A CyPress garland, dark as mine, ?orts not with bay: Alas, the heart must be at ease, And pleased itself, that hope? to please; Or Fancy's lively visions seize In bright array. ......... ?Google
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