And they die in darkness and awful pain.

Ambitions burn in my breast,
As the fires in a city rage;
But damp creeps over their fervid zest
And they sink away into ashen age.

If there was pleasure for pain
I could well be happy awhile,
And, O, my bosom would ne'er complain,
If my fortune gave me a single smile.

But here I am, and the curse is on,
And my life is a waste of woe,
And ere one river of tears is gone,
O, another torrent begins to flow.

Ah, the sun comes up in the east
And the sun goes down in the west.
And man to me is a heartless beast
And the world has only a savage breast!




STANZAS.


Put not trust nor tenderness to sleep,
In sorrow sad;