I see the empty nests beneath the eaves;
No bird is near; the vines have died;
The orchard trees have lost the joy of leaves,
The oaks their lordly pride.

Of what avail to set ajar the door
Through which, when ruin fell, I fled?
If on the threshold I should stand once more,
Shall I behold the dead?

Shall I behold, as on that fatal night,
My mother from the window start,
When she was blasted by the evil sight,--
The shame that broke her heart?

The yellow grass grows on my sister's grave;
Her room is dark--she is not there;
I feel the rain, and hear the wild wind rave--
My tears, and my despair.

A white-haired man is singing a sad song
Amid the ashes on the hearth;
"Ashes to ashes, I have moaned so long
I am alone on earth."

No more! no more! I cannot bear this pain;
Shut the foul annals of my race;
Accursed the hand that opens them again,
My dowry of disgrace.