Why, Werter, dost thou leave me so,
To wander round thy tomb?
Alas! presentiments of woe
Foretold thy fatal doom.
Why Werter didst thou leave me so,
In terrible despair?
Those pistols did thy fate foreknow:
Ah! why was Charlotte there!
Why, Werter, didst thou leave me so?
Alas! thou wrong'dst my love,
To leave me weeping here below,
While thou art blest above.
Werter, thou shalt not leave me so:
We must not parted be:
I quit the world—to heav'n I go!
Werter, I fly to thee.
Amer. Museum, I-180, Feb. 1787, Phila.
DEATH OF WERTER.
I
And say, did Charlotte's hand these pistols give?
Come, ye dear pledges, sacred to my love—
Since giv'n by her, 'twould be a crime to live—
No; come ye pistols; all your death I prove.
II
But first one kiss, for there did Charlotte touch,
Ye sacred relics, now are ye most dear;
Tho' o'er your deeds will Charlotte sorrow much,
And even Albert drop a pitying tear.
III
May heav'n forgive the unconsider'd deed!
It gave me passions, nor could I controul:
But if, poor Werter, 'tis a crime to bleed,
The God of heav'n have mercy on thy soul.
IV
Charlotte I go!—my pistols have their load:
My last, my dying thoughts are fix'd on you!
I go! I go thro' death's untrodden road;
Once, and for ever, Charlotte—Oh! adieu!