'Die my love—I'll not regret thee—
Die, and me of hope bereave:
If thou liv'st, what ills beset thee!
Die, and never know to grieve.

'Soft, my angel; calmly sleeping,
Sleep thy guiltless life away;
Leave to me the task of weeping,
That, with thine, ends not my day.

But, oh! forbear that smile soul-riving—
Smile not, strugg'ling for thy breath!
Smile not, in the conflict striving—
Life beseeching ruthless death!

'My soul unnerves; my heart, retreating,
Breaks to see that fev'rish glow;
The hand of terror stays its beating,
Lovely angel, look not so!

'Shall these eyes no more behold thee?
Cruel friends, oh, let me stay!
In my arms will I enfold thee
Till thou freeze my living clay.

'Sympathetic, softly stealing,
Thou my heart shalt undermine;
My warmth to thine no warmth revealing,
But thy cold shall pierce through mine.

'Thy little arms my throat surrounding,
Stiffly there shall long remain,
Till time our mutual dust confounding,
We vegetate on earth again.

'Now convulsions swiftly seize thee,
Yet, my life my angel, stay;
Death alone can e'er release thee,
Friends, oh, bear me not away!

'Wretch! what feelings now possess thee?
Selfish mother, let him go;
Does his happiness distress thee,
Mother of unworthy woe?

'Little corpse, of spotless beauty,
Soon corruption shall thee taint;
Say for thee I did my duty—
Tell me that, oh, infant saint!

'Childless wretch, thy hopes are over;
Little baby, thou art blest!
I, a solitary rover,
Know no peace till endless rest.'