the last time i came o'er the moor
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.