When you and I shall to our earth return,
And the world thinks each quiet in their urn;
When life's gay scene no more shall cheat the eye
With flattering prospects of uncertain joy;
When truth and falsehood shall unveiled appear,
And gold, which rules below, no influence shall bear:
Then tell me, Strephon, where our souls shall move,
And how our tale shall be received above.
Of broken vows, a long account for you;
For me—the sin of loving aught below.
Ah, Strephon! why was I ordained by fate
To please a swain, so fickle and ingrate?
Why, from the airy, witty and the fair,
Was I the choice of one so insincere?
And why, my constant heart, art thou the same?
Why not extinguished the disastrous flame?
Fond heart! False Strephon!—but the conflict's o'er;
You can betray, nor I believe, no more.
Forgive us, Heaven! though never, never here
We meet again, may we be angels there:
There may my faithful passion find reward;
Your guilt be pardoned, and my prayers be heard.
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