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WHEN I SAT BY MY FAIR, by                    
First Line: When I sat by my fair, and she tremblingly told
Last Line: For distraction itself is less hard than despair.


WHEN I sat by my fair, and she tremblingly told
The soft wishes and doubts of her heart,
How quickly old Time then delightfully rolled,
For love lent the plume from his dart!
From the blush of her cheek, how my bosom caught flame,
And her eyes spoke a fondness her lips would not name.

But her cheek, that once rivalled the summer's full rose,
Now as April's sad primrose is pale;
In her eye, now, no bright sensibility glows,
Though I breathe forth truth's rapturous tale;
And thy moments, old Time, that on downy feet fled,
Ah me! are now fettered and weighty as lead.

Yet surely, though much of her passion is past,
Some sparks of affection remain;
And the clouds, that her meek-beaming brow have o'ercast,
May be melted in pity's soft rain.
If not, my wrung breast to distraction I bare;
For distraction itself is less hard than despair.





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