IN Vain I strive to fly
This Soul consuming Care,
My Sorrows always nigh,
And present every where.

In vain I trace the Grove,
There no Repose I find;
What Place can banish Love
From the subjected Mind.

That pensive-falling Stream,
Those Gales that whisper round,
Increase the fatal Flame,
And deeper fix the Wound.

The silent Shades of night,
Adds Horror to my Grief;
The gay Return of Light
To me brings no Relief.