To Emma
Since now the hour is come at last,When you must quit your anxious lover;Since now, our dream of bliss is past,One pang, my girl, and all is over.
Alas! that pang will be severe,Which bids us part to meet no more;Which tears me far from one so dear,Departing for a distant shore.
Well! we have pass'd some happy hours,And joy will mingle with our tears;When thinking on these ancient towers,The shelter of our infant years;
Where from this Gothic casement's height,We view'd the lake, the park, the dell,And still, though tears obstruct our sight,We lingering look a last farewell,
O'er fields through which we us'd to run,And spend the hours in childish play;O'er shades where, when our race was done,Reposing on my breast you lay;
Whilst I, admiring, too remiss,Forgot to scare the hovering flies,Yet envied every fly the kiss,It dar'd to give your slumbering eyes:
See still the little painted bark,In which I row'd you o'er the lake;See there, high waving o'er the park,The elm I clamber'd for your sake.
These times are past, our joys are gone,You leave me, leave this happy vale;These scenes, I must retrace alone;Without thee, what will they avail?
Who can conceive, who has not prov'd,The anguish of a last embrace?When, torn from all you fondly lov'd,You bid a long adieu to peace.
This is the deepest of our woes,For this these tears our cheeks bedew;This is of love the final close,Oh, God! the fondest, last adieu!
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