Ah stay! ah turn! ah, whither would you fly,
Too charming, too relentless Maid?
I follow not to Conquer, but to Die;
You of the fearful are afraid.

In vain I call; for she like fleeting Air,
When prest by some tempestuous Wind,
Flies swifter from the Voice of my Despair,
Nor casts one pitying Look behind.