The poem
THE LAST time I came o’er the moor, And left Maria’s dwelling, What throes, what tortures passing cure, Were in my bosom swelling: Condemn’d to see my rival’s reign, While I in secret languish; To feel a fire in every vein, Yet dare not speak my anguish.
Love’s veriest wretch, despairing, I Fain, fain, my crime would cover; Th’ unweeting groan, the bursting sigh, Betray the guilty lover. I know my doom must be despair, Thou wilt nor canst relieve me; But oh, Maria, hear my prayer, For Pity’s sake forgive me!
The music of thy tongue I heard, Nor wist while it enslav’d me; I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear’d, Till fear no more had sav’d me: The unwary sailor thus, aghast, The wheeling torrent viewing, ’Mid circling horrors yields at last To overwhelming ruin.