'Tis time, I feel, to leave thee now,

  While yet my soul is something free;

While yet those dangerous eyes allow

  One minute's thought to stray from thee.

Oh! thou becom'st each moment dearer;

  Every chance that brings me nigh thee

Brings my ruin nearer, nearer,—

  I am lost, unless I fly thee.

Nay, if thou dost not scorn and hate me,

  Doom me not thus so soon to fall

Duties, fame, and hopes await me,—

  But that eye would blast them all!

For, thou hast heart as false and cold

  As ever yet allured and swayed,

And couldst, without a sigh, behold

  The ruin which thyself had made.

Yet,—could I think that, truly fond,

  That eye but once would smile on me,

Even as thou art, how far beyond

  Fame, duty, wealth, that smile would be!

Oh! but to win it, night and day,

  Inglorious at thy feet reclined,

I'd sigh my dreams of fame away,

  The world for thee forgot, resigned.

But no, 'tis o'er, and—thus we part,

  Never to meet again—no, never,

False woman, what a mind and heart

 Thy treachery has undone forever.