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ADIEU! A long, a long adieu!
The sweet expression of that face,
Yet give me, give me, ere I go,
-Say, when, to kindle soft delight,
That hand has chanced with mine to meet, How could its thrilling touch excite
A sigh so short, and yet so sweet?
O say-but no, it must not be.
Go-you may call it madness, folly; You shall not chase my gloom away. There's such a charm in melancholy, I would not, if I could, be gay.
Oh, if you knew the pensive pleasure That fills my bosom when I sigh,
You would not rob me of a treasure Monarchs are too poor to buy.
WHILE on the cliff with calm delight she kneels
Far better taught, she lays her bosom bare, And the fond boy springs back to nestle there.
THERE is a streamlet issuing from a rock.
At once spoke joy and sadness to my soul!
Dear is that valley to the murmuring bees;
As in the shining grass she sate concealed,