IN FRENCH FIELDS.
301
LA CHANSON DES ADIEUX.
The lover said to Love, about to fly,
'Go not, dear Love, away;
O my sole wealth, mine idol, refuge high,
Thy gold wings furl, and stay.
'Within my heart is not thy place, the best?
Reposest thou not there
As the wild wood-bird in its mossy nest?
Why wilt thou go, and where?
'Rest! In the house that peace and silence crown,
Beside the waters still,
Were we not happy when the night came down
On hamlet and on hill?
'Hast thou forgotten all the eves we past,
In summer side by side?
See, in mine eyes the tears that gather fast!
Oh, rest, whate'er betide.
'Thou dost not hear me, and thy bright wing throbs,
Thou burnest to depart;
Little import to thee my tears and sobs,
The torture in my heart.'
