Lover and Echo

Tell me, Echo fair!

From the air above
Since thou knowest, why

I to sorrow clove?
Echo: Love.

Love! — O no, of course,
That source ceased to flow;

That I knew of yore
Now no more I know.
Echo: No?

Lo, if Fortune hard

Will thy bard oppress,
Is there — tell me sure

Cure for my distress?
Echo: Yes.

Sage and witty Sprite

Rightly now reply,
Since there's healing calm

Choose what balm should I?
Echo: Die.

Die! — if so 'tis so,

Death puts woe away;

Since 'twill cure my ail
Then all hail I say.
Echo: Icy.

I say thrice all hail

None will wail my fate;
But tell none my tale,

This I supplicate.
Echo: Like Kate.
Kate! the devil flee

With thee, mocking Sprite!
Kate's unkind, and care

Beareth no respite.
Echo: Spite!

If Narcissus such

Jealous touch did wake,
'Tis not strange that he

Left thee for a lake.
Echo: Ache!

Aching sobbing sighs
Still I daily hear;

What can cause thy cries,
Is not comfort near.
Echo: Ne'er.

Shall Narcissus hold

Old Love against the new?
Other fate may fall —

Always needst not rue.
Echo: True!

Blessings on thy Voice,

I rejoice anew!
Since thou far wilt fare,

Farewell and adieu.
Echo: Adieu!