Dear Shade! to whom, each closing eve,
Devoutly streams the ardent tear,
Pity a heart still doom'd to grieve,
Ah! catch it's tender sigh sincere!

With thee, in converse, sadly-sweet,
I join, and half forget my woe,
And fly from every friend I meet,
And sicken at each scene below;

That heav'n to which I haste, I see,
How doubly pleas'd when thou art nigh,
If it was sweet to live for thee,
For thee, it must be sweet to die!