61
The day draws near—and busy men
Wake to their wanted toils
"The little birds have mused them long,
Shaken their plumes and tuned their song;
Have tuned their songs and their flight,
And left me to my sorrow's night."
O why should separation's power
Divide us in auspicious hour?
Love! bound to each our hearts shall be,
And undisturbed by jealousy.
Night! silent are thy steps and slow,
Fain would I to my lady go;
Fain would I pour my fondest vow—
But nothing can console me now.
My heart is wrapp'd in dark distress—
In gloom, and in unquietness—
What can her absent charms replace,
What smile, where smiled her lovely face?
