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Yest'reven, the wind brought news Of the Loved One from oversea
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Lo, the shining moon thy face's Argent sheen hath not
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Yesternight thy languorous glances Of my life and soul beraught me
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Here the fair, with cheek enkindled, Yesternight hath been
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O gone from sight, to God The keeping I commend of thee
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By thy sword thy wretched lover's Slaughter foreassigned is not
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At every word I utter In praise of those her graces
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Skinker, with light of wine Kindle our cup and fill!
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From the usance of the topers Many a year I never strayed
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Plant friendship's tree, for heart's desire To thee its fruitfulness shall bear
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