Go Valentine and tell that lovely maid
 Whom Fancy still will pourtray to my sight,
How her Bard lingers in this sullen shade,
 This dreary gloom of dull monastic night.
Say that from every joy of life remote
 At evening's closing hour he quits the throng,
Listening alone the ring-dove's plaintive note
 Who pours like him her solitary song.
Say that her absence calls the sorrowing sigh,
 Say that of all her charms he loves to speak,
In fancy feels the magic of her eye,
 In fancy views the smile illume her cheek,
Courts the lone hour when Silence stills the grove
And heaves the sigh of Memory and of Love.