Classic Poem

Charlotte, fair maid, what means that eye
Ripe bursting with the tear;
And why thus heave that bitter sigh,
When Albert is not near?

But, ah! lov'd maid, forbear to tell,
Too well your friend doth know,
Within thy bosom all's not well,
There lyes the cup of woe.

Yet think not Werter is unkind,
Tho' far from thee unseen;
For, ah! thou best of womankind,
He knows thy grief is keen.

Whene'er you take your evening walk,
To breathe the ambient air,
Will Werter's shadow round thee stalk,
And guard his hapless fair.

Yes, dearest Charlotte! thee I'll guard,
Till Death his summons sends;
Nor then, the fix'd command retard
That tears thee from thy friends.

Oh! with what haste will Werter speed,
The messenger of Love!
Bear thy pure soul, by fate decreed,
To blissful realms above.

Yet ere we take the last adieu
From friends for ever dear,
Unto the sigh that comes from you,
Will Werter add a tear.

Sanction'd by Heav'n's almighty pow'r,
Our loves shall ever last;
And rising joys each teeming hour,
Be happier than the past.