To Silvia

Silvia, rememberest thou
Yet that sweet time of thine abode on earth,
When beauty graced thy brow
And fired thine eyes, so radiant and so gay;
And thou, so joyous, yet of pensive mood,
Didst pass on youth's fair way?

The chambers calm and still,
The sunny paths around,
Did to thy song resound,
When thou, upon thy handiwork intent,
Wast seated, full of joy
At the fair future where thy hopes were bound.
It was the fragrant month of flowery May,
And thus went by thy day.

I leaving oft behind
The labours and the vigils of my mind,
That did my life consume,
And of my being far the best entomb,
Bade from the casement of my father's house
Mine ears give heed unto thy silver song,
And to thy rapid hand
That swept with skill the spinning thread along.
I watched the sky serene,
The radiant ways and flowers,
And here the sea, the mountain there, expand.
No mortal tongue can tell
What made my bosom swell.

What thoughts divinely sweet,
What hopes, O Silvia! and what souls were ours!
In what guise did we meet
Our destiny and life?
When I remember such aspiring flown,
Fierce pain invades my soul,
Which nothing can console,
And my misfortune I again bemoan.
O Nature, void of ruth,
Why not give some return
For those fair promises? Why full of fraud
Thy wretched offspring spurn?

Thou ere the herbs by winter were destroyed,
Led to the grave by an unknown disease,
Didst perish, tender blossom: thy life's flower
Was not by thee enjoyed;
Nor heard, thy heart to please,
The admiration of thy raven hair
Or of the enamoured glances of thine eyes;
Nor thy companions in the festive hour
Spoke of love's joys and sighs.

Ere long my hope as well
Was dead and gone. By cruel Fate's decree
Was youthfulness denied
Unto my years. Ah me!
How art thou past for aye,
Thou dear companion of my earlier day,
My hope so much bewailed!
Is this the world? Are these
The joys, the loves, the labours and the deeds
Whereof so often we together spoke?
Is this the doom to which mankind proceeds?
When truth before thee lay
Revealed, thou sankest; and thy dying hand
Pointed to death, a figure of cold gloom,
And to a distant tomb.