And thou, my soul’s last hope, its lingering beam,
Thou! the good angel of each brighter dream,
Wert all the barrenness of life possest
To wake one soft affection in my breast!
That vision ended—fate hath nought in store
Of joy or sorrow e’er to touch me more.
Go, Zegri maid! to scenes of sunshine fly,
From the stem pupil of adversity!
And now to hope, to confidence, adieu!
If thou art faithless, who shall e’er be true?”