Hunting Songs. &c, SONG

The conflict's o'er, my love adieu, To death I'll yield serene and brave; Before these parting lines you view, Werter shall sleep within his grave: Whene'er the summer's sun you greet, Recall the hours earliest of bloom; And mark the evening breeze how fleet, Waves the high grass around my tomb.

From this blest moment you are mine, Yes, Charlotte, I but go before, To our dread father's heav'nly shrine, Where sorrows voice is heard no more: He shall receive and comfort give, To one oppress'd with grief and pain; 'Till you at length to bliss arrive, And there forever we remain.