To Her I Love

Tell me, thou soul of her I love, Ah! tell me, whither art thou fled; To what delightful world above, Appointed for the happy dead? Or dost thou, free, at pleasure, roam And sometimes share thy lover's woe; Where, void of thee, his cheerless home Can now, alas! no comfort know? Oh! if thou hoverest round my walk, While, under every well-known tree, I to thy fancied shadow talk, And every tear is full of thee; Should then the weary eye of grief, Beside some sympathetic stream, In slumber find a short relief, Visit thou my soothing dream!