The sable lash long shadows threw;
Her cheek was delicately pale,
And seem'd to tell a piteous tale,
But o'er her looks such patience stole,
Such saint-like tenderness of soul,
That never did my eyes behold,
A beauty of a lovelier mold.

The Lady sigh'd, and closely prest
A sleeping infant to her breast;
Shook off sweet tears of love, and smil'd,
Kissing the fingers of the child,
Which round her own unconscious clung,
Then fondly gaz'd, and softly sung:

Once like that sea, which ebbs and flows,
My bosom never knew repose,
And heavily each morn arose.

I bore with anger and disdain,
I had no power to break my chain,
No one to whom I dar'd complain.

And when some bird has caught my eye,
Or distant sail been flitting by,
I wish'd I could at freely fly.

But I can now contented be,
Can tell, dear babe, my griefs to thee.
And feel more brave, and breathe more free.