From the Italian. imitated 1799. 
When cruel chance, or destiny severe,
Brings to my view that form, Ah! still ador'd!
No more the same as absent I deplor'd,
But chang'd, Oh, chang'd beyond my saddest fear;
When, gaily careless, or with cold neglect,5
She meets the glances of my aching eyes,
How heaves my heart with struggling, smother'd sighs,
My tongue refuses what my thoughts direct,
My burning cheek in vain averted glows,
While every object swims before my sight,10
Then how I long for solitude, and night,
There fondly hoping to regain repose,
Ah! anguish then more keenly wakes my woes,
While weary of the hours I loath the coming light.