Classic Poem

'T IS thy will, and I must leave thee:
O! then, best-beloved, farewell!
I forbear, lest I should grieve thee,
Half my heartfelt pangs to tell.
Soon a British fair will charm thee,
Thou her smiles wilt fondly woo;
But though she to rapture warm thee,
Don't forget THY POOR HINDOO .

Well I know this happy beauty
Soon thine envied bride will shine;
But will she by anxious duty
Prove a passion warm as mine?
If to rule be her ambition,
And her own desires pursue,
Thou 'lt recall my fond submission,
And regret THY POOR HINDOO .

Born herself to rank and splendour,
Will she deign to wait on thee,
And those soft attentions render
Thou so oft hast praised in me?
Yet, why doubt her care to please thee?
Thou must every heart subdue;
I am sure each maid that sees thee
Loves thee like THY POOR HINDOO .

No, ah! no!....though from thee parted,
Other maids will peace obtain;
But thy Lolà, broken-hearted,
Ne'er, oh! ne'er, will smile again.
Oh! how fast from thee they tear me!
Faster still shall death pursue:
But 'tis well....death will endear me,
And thou 'lt mourn THY POOR HINDOO .