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And yet in Mary's gentle soul,
Some pitying thoughts may dwell,
And those bright drops that silent roll
The tender secret tell.
Oh, Mary! calm thy lover's fears,
Who lives for none but thee,
And say that all the sighs and tears,
Are only given to thee.
Tho‘ love is warm awhile.
Though love is warm awhile,
Soon it grows cold;
Absence soon blights the smile,
When he grows old.
Dearest, thy love was mine,
My every thought was thine:
Thus did our hearts entwine,
Ere love was cold.
But could thy bosom prove
Faithful, my fair;
Could'st thou still fondly love,
Still absence bear?
Oh! it was sweet to be
Loved, as I was, by thee:
But if thou'rt lost to me,
Welcome ⟨despair⟩!
