Peace, peace, nor utter what I must not hear
Too much already hast thou been believed
Think not thy words can reach alone mine ear
In this weak heart too easily received.

Why dost thou mock me with a vain complaint?
Why speak of feelings which thou dost not know?
Too well thy lips can fond affection paint
But from thine heart those accents never flow!

What dost thou wish what would this language mean
What can the idle boast to thee avail?
To wound my peace, to blast my hours serene
O'er every hope of future bliss prevail.

Is this thy sport? Ah thoughtless and unjust?
For I have marked thee with a jealous eye,
Since reason first forbad my heart to trust,
And virtue called me from the snare to fly.

Why should I tell the struggles which have torn
This simply credulous, this trusting heart?
As down the stream of fond affection borne
I saw the tranquil shores of peace depart

As the light flag when borne against the breeze
Looks back and trembles with reluctance vain,
My vanquished soul reflects on former ease
Yet powerless sinks submissive to the chain.

Oft when my friendly fate had bad us part
Thy well feign'd sorrow could prevent my cure,
And absence cherished in my grateful heart
Friendship it called so innocent and pure

Yet when returned I saw this friend advance
Expecting joy to sparkle in his eye,
Chilled I beheld the cold averted glance
And proudly checked the involuntary sigh

Then how with scorn my weakness I despised
The folly which was lur'd by falsehood's tale
When other smiles than those I thought were prised
Could o'er thy false or changeful heart prevail

Back then with trembling haste to wisdoms side
Offended delicacy, bade me flee,
Accept my peace restored by wounded pride
And think no more of tenderness or thee

Why then with cruel art and idle pain
Revive the sentiments I still deplore?
Why seek what thus you slighted to regain
And swell this breast with anxious sighs once more

In vain the foldings of thine heart I seek
At length by reason, or by truth to trace,
Conjecture cannot from thy conduct speak
But baffled yields to sad surprise her place.

I sought no arts to captivate thy soul
To blast the prospects of thy opening youth
Such selfish vanity could ne'er control
The heart which loves with innocence and truth—

Torture no more this agitated breast
With false seductive hopes of joy and love,
Suffer in calm indifference to rest
The feelings Prudence bids me disapprove—

Yet a short while and this sad timid eye
No more shall meet thee with reproachful glance
No claims have I to make or thou deny
For ease alone this wearied bosom pants