Seest thou thy lover, lowly laid?
Hear’st thou the groans, that rend his breast?
That sacred hour—can I forget,
Can I forget the hallow’d grove,
Where, by the winding Ayr we met,
To live one day of parting love!
Eternity—will not efface
Those records dear, of transports past;
Thy image, at our last embrace!
Ah! little thought I ’twas our last!