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False thought begone! ye fond delusions cease For ne'er can [[underline]] Charlotte [[/underline]] crown my warm embrace, [[underline]] And Virtue stagger'd at th'approach of bliss. [[/underline]] [[underline]] The Voice of Charlotte, I, like heaven's obey'd. [[/underline]] These arms have folded all my Soul holds dear And one sweet hour, has balanc'd month's of care. Still on these lips I feel the warmth divine The melting warmth, which they imbib'd from thine, But now my love -- 'Tis fix'd my Charlotte. Death must cure my woe my Soul with transport waits th'expected blow 'Tis not, wild passion bears me so my fate My heart rests quiet, and my soul's sedate Nor thro' the impulse of forlorn despair Does [[underline]] Werter [[/underline]] seek this remedy for care But since my woes their destin'd ^ [[addition]] course [[/addition]] have run Death must finish, what cruel love began. Soon as thy hands this Letter shall unfold A dreary grave, the sad remains shall hold Of one who pour'd for thee his latest breath And sought repose within the arms of death
