‘I did it; and would fate allow,
Should visit still, should still deplore—
But health and strength have left me now,
But I, alas! can weep no more.
‘Take then, sweet maid! this simple strain,
The last I offer at thy shrine;
Thy grave must then undeck’d remain,
And all thy memory fade with mine.
‘And can thy soft persuasive look,
That voice that might with music vie,