1.
Oh! when shall the grave hide for ever
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
flow no curses, [i]
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,
Would add to the souls of
our tyrants delight;
Could they view us our sad separation
bewailing,
Their merciless hearts would
rejoice at the sight.
5.
Yet, still, though we bend with a feign’d
resignation,
Life beams not for us with
one ray that can cheer;
Love and Hope upon earth bring no more
consolation,
In the grave is our hope,
for in life is our fear.
6.
Oh! when, my ador’d, in the tomb
will they place me,
Since, in life, love and friendship
for ever are fled?
If again in the mansion of death I embrace
thee,
Perhaps they will leave unmolested—the
dead.
1805.
[Footnote 1:  [To------.--[4to].]]
[Footnote i: ’fall no curses’.—[4to.
’P. on V. Occasions’.]]
