—Ah! ne’er again shall hours to thee be given
Of joy on earth—so near allied to heaven!
Why starts the tear to Bertha’s eye?
Is not her long-loved Osbert nigh?
Is there a grief his voice, his smile,
His words, are fruitless to beguile?
—Oh! bitter to the youthful heart,
That scarce a pang, a care has known,
The hour when first from scenes we part,
Where life’s bright spring has flown!