And is it come to this? Oh! I have still
Deem’d it enough of joy with thee to share
E’en grief itself. And now! But this is vain.
Alas! too deep, too fond, is woman’s love:
Too full of hope, she casts on troubled waves
The treasures of her soul!
Raim. Oh, speak not thus!
Thy gentle and desponding tones fall cold
Upon my inmost heart. I leave thee but
To be more worthy of a love like thine;