| |
| ALAS, and well-a-day! they are talking of me still: | |
| By the tingling of my nostril, I fear they are talking ill: | |
| Poor hapless I—poor little I! So many mouths to fill— | |
| And all for this strange feeling—O, this sad, sweet pain! | |
| |
| O senseless heart—O simple! to yearn so and to pine | 5 |
| For one so far above me, confess’d o’er all to shine; | |
| For one a hundred dote upon, who never can be mine— | |
| O, ’tis a foolish feeling, all this fond sweet pain! | |
| |
| When I was quite a child, not many moons ago— | |
| A happy little maiden—O then it was not so; | 10 |
| Like a sunny-dancing wavelet then I sparkled to and fro, | |
| And I never had this feeling—O, this sad, sweet pain! | |
| |
| I think it must be owing to the idle life I lead | |
| In the dreamy house for ever that this new bosom-weed | |
| Has sprouted up and spread its shoots till it troubles me indeed | 15 |
| With a restless, weary feeling—such a sad, sweet pain! | |
| |
| So in the pleasant islet, O, no longer will I stay, | |
| And the shadowy summer dwelling I will leave this very day; | |
| On Arapa I’ll launch my skiff, and soon be borne away | |
| From all that feeds this feeling—O, this fond sweet pain! | 20 |
| |
| I’ll go and see dear Rima. She’ll welcome me, I know, | |
| And a flaxen cloak, her gayest, o’er my weary shoulders throw, | |
| With purfle red and points so free—O, quite a lovely show | |
| To charm away this feeling—O, this sad, sweet pain! | |
| |
| Two feathers I will borrow, and so gracefully I’ll wear— | 25 |
| Two feathers soft and snowy for my long, black, lustrous hair: | |
| Of the albatross’s down they’ll be—O, how charming they’ll look there, | |
| All to chase away this feeling—O, this fond, sweet pain! | |
| |
| Then the lads will flock around me with flattering talk all day; | |
| And, with anxious little pinches, sly hints of love convey; | 30 |
| And I shall blush with happy pride to hear them, I dare say, | |
| And quite forget this feeling—O, this sad, sweet pain! | |
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