IN this grove my Strephon walkt,
Here he lov’d, and there he talkt;
Here be lov’d, &c.
In this place his loss I prove,
A sad remembrance of our love.
Oh! sad remembrance of our love.
In this grove my Strephon stray’d,
Here he smil’d and there betray’d;
Here he smil’d, &c.
Every whispering breeze can tell,
How I, poor I believing, fell;
Ah! by too soon believing, fell.
By this stream my Strephon mov’d,
Here he sung, and there he lov’d;
Here he sung, &c.
Every stream and every tree
Cries out, perfidious cruel he,
And helpless poor forsaken she.
On this bank my Strephon lean’d,
A lovely foe, but faithless friend;
A lovely foe, &c.
Ye verdant banks, each stream and grove,
Once joyous Scenes, now dismal prove,
Since Strephon’s false to me and love.