To Emma

Since now the hour is come at last,

When you must quit your anxious lover;

Since now, our dream of bliss is past,

One pang, my girl, and all is over.

Alas! that pang will be severe,

Which bids us part to meet no more;

Which tears me far from _one_ so dear,

_Departing_ for a distant shore.

Well! we have pass'd some happy hours,

And joy will mingle with our tears;

When thinking on these ancient towers,

The shelter of our infant years;

Where from this Gothic casement's height,

We view'd the lake, the park, the dell,

And still, though tears obstruct our sight,

We lingering look a last farewell,

O'er fields through which we us'd to run,

And spend the hours in childish play;

O'er shades where, when our race was done,

Reposing on my breast you lay;

Whilst I, admiring, too remiss,

Forgot to scare the hovering flies,

Yet envied every fly the kiss,

It dar'd to give your slumbering eyes:

See still the little painted _bark_,

In which I row'd you o'er the lake;

See there, high waving o'er the park,

The _elm_ I clamber'd for your sake.

These times are past, our joys are gone,

You leave me, leave this happy vale;

These scenes, I must retrace alone;

Without thee, what will they avail?

Who can conceive, who has not prov'd,

The anguish of a last embrace?

When, torn from all you fondly lov'd,

You bid a long adieu to peace.

_This_ is the deepest of our woes,

For _this_ these tears our cheeks bedew;

This is of love the final close,

Oh, God! the fondest, _last_ adieu!