Mabel:
Ah, leave me not to pine
Alone and desolate;
No fate seemed fair as mine,
No happiness so great!
And Nature, day by day,
Has sung in accents clear
This joyous roundelay,
"He loves thee ? he is here.
Fal, la, la, la, Fal, la, la, la.
He loves thee ? he is here.
Fal, la, la, Fal, la!"

Frederic:
Ah, must I leave thee here
In endless night to dream,
Where joy is dark and drear,
And sorrow all supreme ? 
Where nature, day by day,
Will sing, in altered tone,
This weary roundelay,
"He loves thee ? he is gone.
Fal, la, la, la, Fal, la, la, la.
He loves thee ? he is gone."

Fal, la, la, la, Fal, la, la, la.