LEILA, with too successful art,
Has spread for me Love's cruel snare;
And now, when she has caught my heart,
She laughs, and leaves it to despair.
Thus the poor sparrow pants for breath,
Held captive by a playful boy;
And while it drinks the draught of death,
The thoughtless child looks on with joy.
Ah! were its fluttering pinions free,
Soon would it bid its chains adieu;
Or did the child its sufferings see,
He'd pity and relieve them too.
