What pain the separation brings!
2. The pheasant, though no more in view,
His cry below, above, forth sends.
Alas! my princely lord, ’tis you,—
Your absence, that my bosom rends.
3. At sun and moon I sit and gaze,
In converse with my troubled heart.
Far, far from me my husband stays!
When will he come to heal its smart?
4. Ye princely men, who with him mate,