How tedious, alas! are the hours,
The valleys no longer look gay;
The meadows bespangl'd with flow'rs,
No charms have when thou art away.
The villagers meet on the plain,
At eve their gay pastime I see;
But it only awakens my pain,
Since I am far distant from thee.

Gay Summer the meads may perfume,
And call forth the nightingale's voice;
May cause each wild flow'ret to bloom,
And bid smiling Nature rejoice:
Gay Summer would last all the year,
If thou wert still smiling on me,
And a desert would pleasing appear--
But, ah! I am distant from thee.

In vain do I languish and pine,
Thy name is the theme of my song;
No pleasure, alas! now is mine,
But to think of thee all the day long.
O quickly thy presence restore,
That form which is dearest to me,
Or soon will my troubles be o'er,
For 'tis death to be distant from thee!