Like vaporous visions, pass, begone!
No more my heart to move or wound.
And let the dance, and festal din,
O’er my revolted fancy reign,
And fled the night, see morn begin,
Surprised in senseless stupor’s chain.
Harifa, come! Like me this woe
Thou too hast borne! Thou ne’er dost weep!
But, ah! how wretched ’tis to know
Feelings so bitter and so deep!