If I roam thro' the dim Coliseum,
Her fairy form follows me there;
If I list to the solemn "Te Deum,"
Her voice seems to join in the prayer.
"Sweet spirit" I seem to remember,
O would she were near me to hum it;
As I heard her in sunny September,
On the Rigi's aërial summit!

O Alice where art thou? No answer
Comes to cheer my disconsolate heart;
Perhaps she has married a lancer,
Or a bishop, or baronet smart;
Perhaps, as the Belle of the ball-room,
She is dancing, nor thinking of me;
Or riding in front of a small groom;
Or tossed in a tempest at sea;

Or listening to sweet Donizetti,
In Venice, or Rome, or La Scala;
Or walking alone on a jetty;
Or buttering bread in a parlour;
Perhaps, at our next merry meeting,
She will find me dull, married, and gray;
So I'll send her this juvenile greeting
On the Eve of St. Valentine's day.