Ah ! within my bosom beating,
Varying passions wildly reign;
Love, with proud Resentment meeting,
Throbs by turns, of joy and pain.
Joy, that far from foes I wander,
Where their taunts can reach no more;
Pain, that woman's heart grows fonder
When her dream of bliss is o'er !
Love, by fickle fancy banish'd,
Spurn'd by hope, indignant flies;
Yet when love and hope are vanish'd,
Restless mem'ry never dies.
Far I go, where fate shall lead me,
Far across the troubled deep;
Where no stranger's ear shall heed me,
Where no eye for me shall weep.
Proud has been my fatal passion !
Proud my injured heart shall be !
While each thought, each inclination,
Still shall prove me worthy thee !
Not one sigh shall tell my story;
Not one tear my cheek shall stain;
Silent grief shall be my glory,–
Grief, that stoops not to complain !
Let the bosom prone to ranging,
Still by ranging seek a cure;
Mine disdains the thought of changing,
Proudly destin'd to endure.
Yet, ere far from all I treasur'd,
– ere I bid adieu;
Ere my days of pain are measur'd,
Take the song that's still thy due !
Yet, believe, no servile passions
Seek to charm thy vagrant mind;
Well I know thy inclinations,
Wav'ring as the passing wind.
I have lov'd thee,–dearly lov'd thee,
Through an age of worldly woe;
How ungrateful I have prov'd thee
Let my mournful exile show !
Ten long years of anxious sorrow,
Hour by hour I counted o'er;
Looking forward, till to-morrow,
Every day I lov'd thee more !
Pow'r and splendour could not charm me;
I no joy in wealth could see !
Nor could threats or fears alarm me,
Save the fear of losing thee !
When the storms of fortune press'd thee,
I have wept to see thee weep !
When relentless cares distress'd thee,
I have lull'd those cares to sleep !
When with thee, what ills could harm me ?
Thou couldst every pang assuage;
But when absent, nought could charm me;
Every moment seem'd an age.
Fare thee well, ungrateful rover !
Welcome Gallia's hostile shore:
Now the breezes waft me over;
Now we part–TO MEET NO MORE.
