says:

"Speak kindly, ye muses, my spirit inspire,
Breathe softly and sweetly, sweep gently my lyre;
There's gloom in my harp-string's low murmuring tone,
Speak kindly, speak gently, to me here alone.

My spirit all broken--no soul-cheering ray
To warm, and illumine my cold dreary way,
No kind and beloved ones of days that are gone--
There's no one to cheer me, I'm alone, all alone.

From friends fondly cherished I'm severed away,
From the hills where I laughed at the bright early day;
And the morning of life like an arrow is gone,
Like a shadow, a moment, and here I'm alone.

The guardians of childhood, like the bright early flower.
Have blossomed with fragrance, and are lost in an hour;
And the cycle that brought them has eddied and gone,
And left me behind them, alone, all alone.

How solemn and dreary, how somber with gloom,
Are my lonely reflections, of the cold silent tomb,
The abode of a father once fearless and bold,
Of a sister once lovely, now silent and cold;

Of a mother lamenting her lost, lonely son,
Awaiting awhile, but a day to be gone,
And to mingle with spirits of blest early love,