The last Time I came
o'er the Moor.
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THe last Time I came o'er the Moor,
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I left my Love behind me;
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Ye Powers what Pains do I endure,
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When soft Idea's mind me?
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Soon as the ruddy Morn display'd
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The beaming Day ensuing,
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I met betimes my lovely Maid,
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In fit Retreats for Wooing.
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Beneath the cooling Shades we lay,
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Gazing and chastly sporting,
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We kiss'd and pass'd the Time away,
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Till Night spread her black Courtain;
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I pitied all beneath the Skies,
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E'en Kings, when she was nigh me,
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In Raptures I beheld her Eyes,
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Which could but ill deny me.
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Should I be call'd where Cannons roar,
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Where mortal Steel may wound me,
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Or cast upon some distant Shore,
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Where Dangers may surround me;
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Yet Hopes again to see my Love,
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And feast on glowing Kisses,
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Shall make my Cares at Distance move,
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In Prospect of such Blesses.
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In all my Soul there's not one Place
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To let a Rival enter;
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Since she outshines in every Grace,
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In her my Love shall center:
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Sooner the Sea shall cease to flow,
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Its Waves the Alps shall cover,
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On Greenland Ice shall Roses grow,
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Before I cease to love her.
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The next Time I go o'er the Moor,
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She shall a Lover find me;
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And that my Faith is firm and sure,
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Tho I left her behind me:
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Then Hymens sacred Band shall chain
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My Heart to her fair Bosom,
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And while my Being doth remain,
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My Love more fresh shall blossom.
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