Beneath a green shade, a lovely young swain
One ev'ning reclin'd, to discover his pain.
So sad, yet so sweetly, he warbled his woe,
The winds ceas'd to breathe, and the fountains to flow;
Rude winds with compassion could hear him complain;
Yet Chloe, less gentle, was deaf to his strain.

How happy, he cried, my moments once flew,
Ere Chloe's bright charms first flash'd on my view!
These eyes then with pleasure the dawn could survey,
Nor smil'd the fair morning more cheerful than they;
Now scenes of distress please only my sight --
I'm tortur'd in pleasure, and languish in light.

But see the pale moon all clouded retires;
The breezes grow cool, not Strephon's desires:
I fly from the dangers of tempest and wind,
Yet nourish the madness that preys on my mind:
Ah wretch! how can life thus merit thy care!
Since length'ning its moments but lengthens despair.