Whose cooling waters ever burst in crystal sparklings;
It is for thee my shaft will wing the wild bird in the air,
Or strike the swift gazelle to deck our simple mountain fare.
Oh ’tis thou canst bid my spirit throb with rapture’s warmest sigh,
As gushing winds will make a lute’s strings sleeping melody;
When other hopes have faded like the flow’rets of the spring,
Thou’lt be to me a joyous wreath for ever blossoming.
Then fly with me my lady love, my island borne is free,
And its flowers will bloom more sweetly still, when gazed upon by thee;
Come, lady, come, the stars are bright in all their radiant power,