Impromptu (No regrets, when thou art leaving)

NO regrets, when thou art leavingPine-clad hills and silver streams?No attractions on reflection,Lady, mingle with thy dreams?

No emotions wouldst thou cherish,Born here in thy highland home?Must the present pictures perish,When away from us you roam?

I would weave a wreath immortalFor each gentle friend of mine;Hue and perfume never dying,The forget-me-not entwine.

We admit thou ownest boldlyOne, but one thou carest to leave;On the rest thou smilest coldly,Lady, 'tis for this we grieve.

Truly thou hast lived some hours,Met friends thou canst not forget;I implore thee with these flowers,Say thou leavest with regret.