Song

’t is said that absence conquers love! But, oh! believe it not; I ’ve tried, alas! its power to prove, But thou art not forgot. Lady, though fate has bid us part, Yet still thou art as dear, As fixed in this devoted heart, As when I clasped thee here. I plunge into the busy crowd, And smile to hear thy name; And yet, as if I thought aloud, They know me still the same; And when the wine-cup passes round, I toast some other fair,— But when I ask my heart the sound, Thy name is echoed there. And when some other name I learn, And try to whisper love, Still will my heart to thee return Like the returning dove. In vain! I never can forget, And would not be forgot; For I must bear the same regret, Whate’er may be my lot. E’en as the wounded bird will seek Its favorite bower to die, So, lady! I would hear thee speak, And yield my parting sigh. ’T is said that absence conquers love! But, oh! believe it not; I ’ve tried, alas! its power to prove, But thou are not forgot.