And it will scarcely, to my lip,
Seem harsher than yon fountain's flow,
For I have held companionship
With Misery, from my youth till now--
Have felt, by turns, each pang, each care,
Her hapless sons are doomed, to bear;--
I caught my mother's parting breath,
When passed she to the spirit land;
And from the fatal field of death,
Where, leading on his fearless band,
With fiery and resistless might,
He fell, though victor in the fight,
Pierced by the arrow of some foe,
I saw my father's spirit go.
And I have seen his warrior men,
From mountain, valley, hill, and glen,
Departing one by one, since then,
As from the dry and withered spray,
The wilted leaves are blown away,
Upon some windy autumn day:
I, only I, am left to be
The last leaf of the blighted tree,
Which the first wind that through the sky
Goes carelessly careering by,
Will, in its wild, unheeded mirth,
Rend from its hold, and dash to earth:
Thus, here alone have I remained,
An outcast, where I should have reigned.

VI.