The hour is come! Love, fare thee well!
Farewell, my Love, my first, my last!
For me the charms of life are past
When far away from thee, Love!
For me nor joys nor peace remain,
But wakeful thoughts and ceaseless pain;
While thou, perchance, wilt never more—
Oh, never, think on me, Love!
Yet canst thou not forbid my thoughts
Lingering around those charms to stay,
Which sweetly stole my peace away,
And hover still round thee, Love!
Still, still about thy path, wherever
Thy steps are turned, my heart is there;
While thou, perchance, wilt never more—
Oh, never, think on me, Love!
While I through distant climes shall roam,
And sadly to the desert shore
My constant strain of sorrow pour,
And vainly call on thee, Love!
From morn to morn one theme of woe,
One only theme, my heart, can know;
While thou, perchance, wilt never more—
Ah, never, think on me, Love!
And on those scenes of vanished joys,
Those pleasant scenes, I oft shall gaze,
When swiftly passed the blissful days,
The days I passed with thee, Love!
For me shall every spot I view
My bleeding memory's wounds renew;
While thou, perchance, wilt never more—
Ah, never, think on me, Love !
Beside this fount I saw thy brow
A moment cloud, but soon appeased
That beauteous hand with rapture seized,
The pledge of peace with thee, Love!
Here first I heard Hope's flattering tone;
There fondly sighed, but not alone;
Yet thou, perchance, wilt never more—
Ah, never, think on me, Love!
And now around thy new abode,
Full many a heart like mine shall swell.
And many a tale of passion tell.
And vows of truth to thee, Love!
And thou, while all their homage pay,
And fondly weep, or softly pray.
Wilt thou, perchance, one moment ever,—
Oh, wilt thou, think on me, Love?
Oh, think on all the pangs I feel,
The wound that rankles in my breast:
I dare not hope—but, hope suppressed.
Still fondly worshiped thee, Love!
Oh, think what anguished feelings swell.
In this last, bitterest fare-thee-well!
Oh, think—but thou wilt never more—
No, never, think on me, Love!
