Fresh ROSAMONDE the glowing scene surveys,
Her youthful bosom inly stung with pain;
Early amid the shadowy trees she strays,
Her shining ears the starting tears restrain;
While tyrant Love within her pulses plays,
O'er the wet grass she flew with wild disdain.
She flew from thought, and far
She sang, and hail'd the morning star.
Her voice was pinion'd on the wind,
Which wafts her notes around;
Encircling zephyrs caught each sound,
And bore them echoing through the wood,
Where pleas'd offended URBAN stood,
With archest smile, yet musical and kind:
Conquering the sigh, she gayly sung,
And scorn loud-trembled on her wiery tongue.