To soothe your grief or calm your care;
Nay, do not weep; that bitter mourning
Tortures my soul with wild despair.

No; tell me that when I am lying
In the old church beneath the stone,
You'll dry your tears and check your sighing,
And soon forget the spirit gone.

You've asked me long to tell what sorrow
Has blanched my cheek and quenched my eye;
And we shall never cry to-morrow,
So I'll confess before I die.

Ten years ago in last September
Fernando left his home and you,
And still I think you must remember
The anguish of that last adieu.

And well you know how wildly pining
I longed to see his face again,
Through all the Autumn drear deceiving
Its stormy nights and days of rain.

Down on the skirts of Areon's Forest
There lies a lone and lovely glade,
And there the hearts together nourished,
Their first, their fatal parting made.