Condemn’d to nourish hope in vain,
My breast shall never peace regain;
The fair my soul ador’d the most,
Is to my love for ever lost.
Another—yes—and must we part?---
Another triumphs in her heart:
He tastes those humid lips, which I
To taste, would gladly yield to die.
Distraction---she---of all possest,
He sinks upon her snowy breast: