YE native gems of beauty! golden hairs
Once mingled with my own,
While soft desires, ah me! were all the cares
Two idle hearts had known.
How is it that I take ye from the shrine
Which holds one treasure yet,
That ye, now all of Nancy that is mine,
Shrink from my fond regret?
Ye leaves that droopt not with the plant that bore ye,
Start ye before my breath?
Shrink ye from fonder Love that would adore ye,
O ye who fear not Death?