Ye Woods and ye Mountains unknown,
Beneath whose Shadows I stray,
To the Breast of my Charmer alone
These sighs bid sweet Echo convey,

Wherever he pensively leans
By Fountain on Hill or in Grove;
His heart will explain what she means
Who sings both from Sorrow and Love. 

More soft than the Nightingale’s Song,
O waft the sad Sound to his Ear,
And say though divided so long,
The Friend of his Bosom is near.

Then tell him what Years of Delight,
Then tell him what ages of Pain 
I felt while I liv’d in his Sight
I feel ‘till I see him again.