Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! Ah, fields beloved in vain! Where once my careless childhood strayd, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow.
To each his suffrings; all are men, Condemnd alike to groan, The tender for anothers pain, Th unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late,