When thou that wast his all of joy, has vanished from his view,
When the dim distance greets mine eyes, and through the wandering tears,
Thy bright form for a moment like the false mirage appears.
Slow and unmounted will I roam, with wearied foot, alone,
Where with fleet speed thy whirling wheels full oft hast borne me on;
And sitting down on grassy bank, I’ll pause and sadly think
’Twas here he bowed his glossy neck and shot me o’er the brink.
Yet still, I love thee! away, away, the fever’d dream is o’er!
I could not live a day and know that we should meet no more;
They tempted me, my beautiful for money’s power is strong,