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Oh! let her all impassioned sink,
In sweet abandonment resigned,
Blushing for all our struggles past,
And murmuring, “I am thine at last!”


With all my soul, then, let us part,

Since both are anxious to be free; And I will send you home your heart,

If you will send back mine to me. We've had some happy hours together,

But joy must often change its wing; And spring would be but gloomy weather,

If we had nothing else but spring. 'Tis not that I expect to find

A more devoted, fond, and true one, With rosier cheek or sweeter mind

Enough for me that she's a new one. Thus let us leave the bower of love,

Where we have loitered long in bliss; And you may down that pathway rove,

While I shall take my way through this. Our hearts have suffered little harm

In this short fever of desire; You have not lost a single charm,

Nor I one spark of feeling fire. My kisses have not stained the rose

Which Nature hung upon your lip; And still your sigh with nectar flows

For many a raptured soul to sip. Farewell ! and when some other fair

Shall call your wanderer to her arms, 'Twill be my luxury to compare

Her spells with your remembered charms “This cheek,” I'll say, “is not so bright

As one that used to meet my kiss ; This eye has not such liquid light

As one that used to talk of bliss !” Farewell ! and when some future lover

Shall claim the heart which I resign, And in exulting joys discover

All the charms that once were mine;
I think I should be sweetly blest,

If, in a soft imperfect sigh,
You'd say, while to his bosom prest,

He loves not half so well as I !

See how, beneath the moonbeam's smile,

Yon little billow heaves its breast,
And foams and sparkles for a while,

And murmuring then subsides to rest.
Thus man, the sport of bliss and care,

Rises on Time's eventful sea,
And, having swelled a moment there,

Thus melts into eternity!

Come, tell me where the maid is found,

Whose heart can love without deceit,
And I will range the world around,

To sigh one moment at her feet.
Oh! tell me where's her sainted home,

What air receives her blessèd sigh,
A pilgrimage of years I'll roam

To catch one sparkle of her eye! And if her cheek be rosy bright,

While truth within her bosom lies, I'll gaze upon her morn and night,

Till my heart leave me through my eyes ! Show me on earth a thing so rare,

I'll own all miracles are true ;
To make one maid sincere and fair,

Oh ! 'tis the utmost Heaven can do!

If I swear by that eye, you'll allow

Its look is so shifting and new
That the oath I might take on it now

The very next glance would undo!
Those babies that nestle so sly

Such different arrows have got That an oath on the glance of an eye

Such as yours may be off in a shot ! Should I swear by the dew on your lip,

Though each moment the treasure renews, If my constancy wishes to trip,

I may kiss off the oath when I choose ! Or a sigh may disperse from that flower

The dew and the oath that are there ! And I'd make a new vow every hour,

To lose them so sweetly in air !

Bat dear up that heaven of your brow,

Nor fancy my faith is a feather ;
On my heart I will pledge you my vow,

And they both must be broken together!

REMEMBER him thou leavest behind,

Whose heart is warmly bound to thee, Close as the tenderest links can bind

A heart as warm as heart can be. Oh! I had long in freedom roved,

Though many seemed my soul to share; Tras passion when I thought I loved,

'Twas fancy when I thought them fair. E'en she, my muse's early theme, _Beguiled me only while she warmed ; Twas young Desire that fed the dream,

And reason broke what passion formed. But thou—ah! better had it been

If I had still in freedom roved, If I had ne'er thy beauties seen,

For then I never should have loved ! Then all the pain which lovers feel

Had never to my heart been known; But, ah ! the joys which lovers steal,

Should they have ever been my own? Oh! trust me, when I swear thee this,

Dearest ! the pain of loving thee, The very pain, is sweeter bliss

Than passion's wildest ecstasy ! That little cage I would not part,

In which my soul is prisoned now, For the most light and winged heart

That wantons on the passing vow. Still, my beloved ! still keep in mind,

However far removed from me, That there is one thou leavest behind,

Whose heart respires for only thee ! And though ungenial ties have bound

Thy fate unto another's care ; That arm, which clasps thy bosom round,

Cannot confine the heart that's there. No, no! that heart is only mine

By ties all other ties above, For I have wed it at a shrine

Where we have had no priest but Love !

Fly from the world, O Bessy ! to me,

Thou'lt never find any sincerer ;
I'll give up the world, Ó Bessy ! for thee,

I can never meet any that's dearer !
Then tell me no more, with a tear and a sigh,

That our loves will be censured by many;
All, all have their follies, and who will deny

That ours is the sweetest of any ?
When your lip has met mine, in abandonment sweet,

Have we felt as if virtue forbid it?-
Have we felt as if Heaven denied them to meet ?

No, rather 'twas Heaven that did it!
So innocent, love, is the pleasure we sip,

So little of guilt is there in it,
That I wish all my errors were lodged on your lip,

And I'd kiss them away in a minute !
Then come to your lover, oh! Ay to his shed,

From a world which I know thou despisest;
And slumber will hover as light on our bed

As e'er on the couch of the wisest!
And when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven,

And thou, pretty innocent, fearest,
I'll tell thee, it is not the chiding of Heaven,

'Tis only our lullaby, dearest !
And oh! when we lie on our death-bed, my love,

Looking back on the scene of our errors,
A sigh from my Bessy shall plead then above,

And Death be disarmed of his terrors !
And each to the other embracing will say,

“Farewell ! let us hope we're forgiven !”. Thy last fading glance will illumine the way!

And a kiss be our passport to heaven!

THINK on that look of humid ray

Which for a moment mixed with mine,
And for that moment seemed to say,

I dare not, or I would be thine !”
Think, think on every smile and glance,

On all thou hast to charm and move,
And then forgive my bosom's trance,

And tell me 'tis not sin to love!
On ! not to love thee were the sin;

For sure if Heaven's decrees be done.
Thou, thou art destined still to win,

As I was destined to be won!

For Willumberg's daughter his bosom had beat,

For Rose, who was bright as the spirit of dawn, When with wand dropping diamonds, and silvery feet,

It walks o'er the flowers of the mountain and lawn! Must Rose, then, from Reuben so fatally sever?

Sad, sad were the words of the man in the cave, That darkness should cover the castle for ever,

Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless wave! She flew to the wizard—“And tell me, oh tell!

Shall my Reuben no more be restored to my eyes?”– Yes, yes,—when a spirit shall toll the great bell

Of the mouldering abbey, your Reuben shall rise!” Twice, thrice he repeated, “ Your Reuben shall rise!"

And Rose felt a moment's release from her pain; She wiped, while she listened, the tears from her eyes,

And she hoped she might yet see her hero again! Her hero could smile at the terrors of death,

When he felt that he died for the sire of his Rose; To the Oder he flew, and there plunging beneath,

In the lapse of the billows soon found his repose. —
How strangely the order of destiny falls !

Not long in the waters the warrior lay,
When a sunbeam was seen to glance over the walls,

And the castle of Willumberg basked in the ray!
All, all but the soul of the maid was in light,

There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank : Two days did she wander, and all the long night,

In quest of her love, on the wide river's bank. Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell,

And she heard but the breathings of night in the air, Long, long did she gaze on the watery swell,

And she saw but the foam of the white billow there. And often as midnight its veil would undraw,

And she looked at the light of the moon in the stream, She thought 'twas his helmet of silver she saw,

As the curl of the surge glittered high in the beam. And now the third night was begemming the sky,

Poor Rose on the cold dewy margent reclined, There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye,

When, - hark !-'twas the bell that came deep in the wind ! She startled, and saw, through the glimmering shade,

A form o'er the waters in majesty glide;
She knew 'twas her love, though his cheek was decayed,

And his helmet of silver was washed by the tide.

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