* * * * *


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,
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,