song.—anna, thy charms

　　anna, thy charms my bosom fire,

　　and waste my soul with care;

　　but ah! how bootless to admire,

　　when fated to despair!

　　yet in thy presence, lovely fair,

　　to hope may be forgiven;

　　for sure 'twere impious to despair

　　so much in sight of heaven.