Canst thou so soon unkindly sever

Canst thou so soon unkindly sever
My long, long suit from memory?
The precious time now lost for ever,
The vanish'd moments pass'd with thee,
In friendliness, in love's caress,
In happiness, and converse free from guile,
From night till morning, and 'neath twilight's smile.

A father's rage and friends' derision
For thee I've borne, when thou wert kind;
But they fled by me as a vision
That fades and leaves no trace behind.
Oh! thus I deem'd, when fondly beam'd,
And purely gleam'd, those brilliant eyes, whose ray
Hath made me linger near thee through the day.

How oft those tender hands I've taken,
And drawn them to my breast, whose flame
Seem'd, at their gentle touch, to waken
To feelings I dared scarcely name!
I wish'd to wear a lattice there
Of crystal clear or purest glass, that well
Thou mightst behold what tongue could never tell.

Oh! could the heart within me glowing
E'er from its cell have been removed,
I had not shrunk—that heart bestowing
On thee, whom I so warmly loved:
So long'd to wed, so cherished.
Ah! who could dread that thou wouldst wanton be,
And so inconstant in thy love to me!

Another youth has stoln my treasure,
And placed himself upon the throne
Where late I reign'd, supreme in pleasure,
And weakly thought it all my own.
What causes now that chilling brow?
Or where didst thou such evil counsel gain,
As thus to pride and glory in my pain?

What thoughts, too painful to be spoken,
Hath falsehood for thy soul prepared,
When thou survey'st each true-love token,
And think'st of joys together shared!
Of vows we made beneath the shade,
And kisses paid by my fond lips to thine,
And given back with murmur'd sigh to mine!

Bethink thee of those hours of wooing,—
Of words that seem'd the breath of truth,—
The Eden thou hast made a ruin,—
My wither'd hopes and blighted youth!
It wonders me that thou shouldst be
So calm and free, nor dread the rage that burns
Within the heart where love to malice turns.

Away—away—accurs'd deceiver!
With tears delude the eyes and brain
Of him, the fond—the weak believer—
Who follows now thy fickle train.
That senseless hind (to whom thou'rt kind
Not for his mind, but for his treasured ore)
Disturbs me not—farewell! we meet no more.