Sonnet. Melissa's Retirement

All me! why heaves my breast with frequent sighs? What chills my heart with such unusual fear? Why steal the tears, unbidden, from my eyes? Why sink my wearied spirits in despair?— The fatal cause, alas! I know too well! Far from my arms, you, cruel! mean to go: Hence, hence my unavailing sorrows flow: But,—can I live to hear you say "farewel!" Yes, I shall live, to grief a wretched prey— For, when your presence cheers the calm retreat, My moans the widow'd dove will oft repeat, And ev'ry gale will sighs of mine convey!

Then go!—But think of him, who, sad, forlorn— Here pines and sickens for your dear return!