Translation of an Ode of Klopstock's

Ah, Selma! if our love the fates should sever,
And bear thy spirit from the world below,
Then shall mine eyes be wet with tears for ever,
Each gloomy morn, each night of darker woe,

Each hour, that passed so soon in thy embracing,
Each minute keenly felt, shall force a tear;
The long, long months! the years so slowly pacing!
Which all were swift alike, and all were dear.

SHE.
My Selmar! ah, if from thy Selma parted,
Thy soul should first the paths of darkness tread,
Sad were my course, and short, and broken-hearted,
To weep those lonely days, that dismal bed!

Each hour that erst in converse sweet returning
Shone with thy smile or sparkled with thy tear,
Each lingering day should lengthen out my mourning,
The days that passed so swiftly and so dear!

HE.
And did I promise, Selma, years of sorrow?
And canst thou linger only days behind?
Few minutes, few, be mine from fate to borrow,
Near thy pale cheek and breathless form reclined,

Press thy dead hand, and, wildly bending o'er thee,
Print one last kiss upon thy glazed eye.

SHE.
Nay, Selmar, nay— I will not fall before thee;
That pang be mine; thou shalt not see me die:

Some few sad moments on thy death-bed lying,
By thy pale corpse my trembling frame shall be;
Gaze on thy altered form, then inly sighing,
Sink on that breast, and wax as pale as thee.