Till when, my art is vain:—But fear not, Emmeline,
The enchanter has no power on innocence.
Em. [To Arth.] Farewell, since we must part: When you are gone,
I'll look into my glass, just where you looked.
To find your face again;
If 'tis not there, I'll think on you so long,
My heart shall make your picture for my eyes.
Arth. Where'er I go, my soul shall stay with thee;
'Tis but my shadow that I take away.
True love is never happy but by halves;