Adieu! Dear Girl! If We Are Doom'D To Part, Take With Thee, Take, The Blessing Of This Heart, Due To Thy Gentle Mind, And Cultur'D Sense; Perhaps 'Twill Please, But, Sure, Can't Give Offence. Tho', When We Met, The Solar Ray Was Gone, And On Our Steps The Moon-Beam Only Shone, Yet Well I Mark'D Thy Form And Native Grace, And All The Sweet Expression Of Thy Face; And Pleas'D I Listen'D As Thy Accents Fell, Accents That Spoke A Feeling Mind So Well Lo, When The Birds Repose At Ev'Ning Hour, The Sweetest Of Them Carols From Her Bow'R! So, When The Dews The Garden'S Fragrance Close, The Night-Flow'R[A] Blooms, The Rival Of The Rose!