XXVII.
XXVII. [1]
Or do I dream, or do I view indeed
That form long-lov'd, deplor'd? Oft-soothing night,
By fancy aided, gave thee to my sight,
And thus I gaz'd, thus my fond soul could feed
On the vain image! 'till with cruel speed5
It vanish'd at the morn's returning light.
How cheerless have I mourn'd the phantoms bright,
Which seem'd to Pleasure's rosy gates to lead!
Ah is it thus? and am I doom'd again
To see my hopes dissolve like melting snow?10
To wake and weep, and all the anguish know
Of disappointment? yet, yet delay the pain;
Smile thus again, thus cheating all my woe,
Oh ever friendly vision yet remain!
