Has left the miserable Coridon
Bereft of all his comforts, all alone!
Have you not seen my gentle lad,
Whom every swain did love,
Cheerful, when every swain was sad,
Beneath the melancholy grove?
10His face was beauteous as the dawn of day,
Broke through the gloomy shades of night:
O my anguish! my delight!