Song

How hardly I concealed my tears,
How oft did I complain!
When, many tedious days, my fears
Told me I loved in vain.

But now my joys as wild are grown,
And hard to be concealed;
Sorrow may make a silent moan,
But joy will be revealed.

I tell it to the bleating flocks,
To every stream and tree;
And bless the hollow murmuring rocks
For echoing back to me.

Thus you may see with how much joy
We want, we wish, we believe;
'Tis hard such passion to destroy
But easy to deceive.

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