“I would say more, but must stow away my shreds and tinsel patches. Ugh! how hideous they look after thinking of you!
“Adieu! adieu! and when thou’rt gone,
My joy shall be made up alone
Of calling back, with fancy’s charm,
Those halcyon hours when in my arm
Clasped Consuelo.
“Adieu! adieu! be thine each joy
That earth can yield without alloy,
Shall be the earnest constant prayer
Of him who in his heart shall wear