TO ——

1.

Oh! when shall the grave hide forever my sorrow?

Oh! when shall my soul wing her flight from this clay?

The present is hell! and the coming to-morrow,

But brings with new torture, the curse of to-day.

2.

From my eye flows no tear, from my lips fall no curses,

I blast not the fiends, who have hurl'd me from bliss,

For poor is the soul which bewailing rehearses,

Its querulous grief, when in anguish like this—

3.

Was my eye, 'stead of tears, with red fury flakes bright'ning.

Would my lips breathe a flame, which no stream could assuage,

[pg 21]

On our foes should my glance launch in vengeance its lightning,

With transport my tongue give a loose to its rage.

4.

But now tears and curses alike unavailing,

Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight;

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