A Song

A SONG

I

Farewell , dear Revecchia, my joy and my grief,
Too long I have lov'd you and found no relief;
Undone by your jailer too strict and severe;
Your eyes gave me love and he gives me despair.
Now urg'd by your interest I seek to retire
Far off from the cause of so hopeless a fire;
To stay near you still were in vain to torment
Your ears with a passion you must not content.

II

To live in the country with fools is less pain
Then still to endure an unwilling disdain;
You 're the cause of my exile, and far off I'll go,
That none of my suff'rings you ever may know.
But if some kind fate you should chance to convey,
And thro' woods where I've been your journey should lay,
Your name when you find upon every tree,
You 'll say: " Poor Alexis! 't was written by thee. "
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