A Song

I.

Vainly, now, ye strive to charm me,
All, ye sweets, of blooming May ;
How can empty sun-shine warm me,
While Lotharia keeps away!

II.

Go, ye warbling birds! go, leave me:
Shade, ye clouds, the smiling sky:
Sweeter notes her voice can give me,
Softer sun-shine fills her eye .
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