Though Fate, my girl, may bid us part,

  Our souls it cannot, shall not sever;

The heart will seek its kindred heart,

  And cling to it as close as ever.

But must we, must we part indeed?

  Is all our dream of rapture over?

And does not Julia's bosom bleed

  To leave so dear, so fond a lover?

Does she, too, mourn?—Perhaps she may;

  Perhaps she mourns our bliss so fleeting;

But why is Julia's eye so gay,

  If Julia's heart like mine is beating?

I oft have loved that sunny glow

  Of gladness in her blue eye beaming—

But can the bosom bleed with woe

  While joy is in the glances beaming?

No, no!—Yet, love, I will not chide;

  Although your heart were fond of roving,

Nor that, nor all the world beside

  Could keep your faithful boy from loving.

You'll soon be distant from his eye,

  And, with you, all that's worth possessing.

Oh! then it will be sweet to die,

  When life has lost its only blessing!