I.
I fly from the fold, since my passion's despair
No longer must harbour the charms that are there;
Anne's[95] slender eyebrows, her sleek tresses so long,
Her turreted bosom—and Isabel's[96] song;
What has been, and is not—woe 's my thought!
It must not be spoken, nor can be forgot.
II.
I wander'd the fold, and I rambled the grove,
And each spot it reported the kiss of my love;
But I saw her caressing another—and feel
'Tis distraction to hear them, and see them so leal.
What has been, and is not, &c.
III.
Since 'twas told that a rival beguil'd thee away,
The dreams of my love are the dreams of dismay;
Though unsummon'd of thee,[97] love has captured thy thrall,
And my hope of redemption for ever is small.
Day and night, though I strive aye
To shake him away, still he clings like the ivy.
IV.
But, auburn-hair'd Anna! to tell thee my plight,
'Tis old love unrequited that prostrates my might,
In presence or absence, aye faithful, my smart
Still racks, and still searches, and tugs at my heart—
Broken that heart, yet why disappear
From my country, without one embrace from my dear?
V.
She answers with laughter and haughty disdain—
"To handle my snood you petition in vain;
Six suitors are mine since the year thou wert gone,
What art thou, that thou should'st be the favourite one?
Art thou sick? Ha, ha, for thy woe!
Art thou dying for love? Troth, love's payment was slow."[98]