While Pensive I thought on my Love

While Pensive I thought on my love,
The moon on the mountains was bright,
And Philomel down in the grove,
Roke the sweet silence of night,

O I wish?d that the tear drop would flow
But I felt too much anguish too weep
Till worn by the weight of my woe.
I sunk on my pillow to sleep.

Methought that my love as I lay,
His ringlets all clotted with gorve
In the paleness of death seem?d to say,
Alas ! we must never meet more.

Yes, yes, my beloved we must part,
The steel of my rival was true;
The assassin has struck on that heart
Which beat with such fervour for you