What beck'ning ghost, along the moonlight shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?

He best can paint them who shall feel them most.

Is it, in Heav'n, a crime to love too well? To bear too tender, or too firm a heart, To act a lover's or a Roman's part? Is there no bright reversion in the sk…

Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore, And image charms he must behold no more, Such if there be, who loves so long, so well; Let him our sad, our tender…