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.