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!

1805.

FRAGMENTS OF SCHOOL EXERCISES, FROM THE PROMETHEUS VINCTUS OF ÆSCHYLUS.

 Prev. P 18/87 next