Beneath a green shade

Beneath a green shade, a lovely young swain

Ae evening reclined to discover his pain;

So sad, yet so sweetly, he warbled his woe,

The winds ceased to breathe, and the fountain to flow;

Rude winds wi' compassion could hear him complain,

Yet Chloe, less gentle, was deaf to his strain.

How happy, he cried, my moments once flew,

Ere Chloe's bright charms first flash'd in my view!

Those eyes then wi' pleasure the dawn could survey;

Nor smiled the fair morning mair cheerful than they.

Now scenes of distress please only my sight;

I'm tortured in pleasure, and languish in light.

Through changes in vain relief I pursue,

All, all but conspire my griefs to renew;

From sunshine to zephyrs and shades we repair—

To sunshine we fly from too piercing an air;

But love's ardent fire burns always the same,

No winter can cool it, no summer inflame.

But see the pale moon, all clouded, retires;

The breezes grow cool, not Strephon's desires:

I fly from the dangers of tempest and wind,

Yet nourish the madness that preys on my mind.

Ah, wretch! how can life be worthy thy care?

To lengthen its moments, but lengthens despair.