Yet O! farewell, dear mother!-- Be God Himself your Friend, Your Comforter in trouble, Your Saviour in the end! Farewell, beloved brothers; My frailties O! forgive! And while I breathe, repenting, May you respected live. Endear'd, adored sisters-- But O! my heart, forbear! How, from thy clasping fibres, Can I these idols tear! We've lov'd and wept together, And till my latest breath, This heart shall bear their features, And cling to them in death! Each fond association, How round my heart it plays! And wakes the recollection Of dear departed days! These fled--afflictions follow'd; They, too, will soon be o'er-- Soon we shall meet in heaven, To separate no more. How oft have these dear kindreds Bedew'd my path with tears, And follow'd me, lamenting, Thro' many gloomy years. But now they weep no longer-- The last sad tears they shed, Fell on that mournful evening When they pronounced me DEAD! They've buri'd me, tho' living, And worn their sable weeds, And down to blank oblivion My memory recedes! _Dead!_--would to God I were so! Why should I wish to live? A wretched, joyless creature, And only spar'd to grieve! The gloom of death surrounds me, And chills me to the soul; My tears by sorrow frozen, Have long refus'd to roll. In vain the pleasing changes Of darkness and of day, Of bloom and desolation, Around my dungeon play. There is no day in prison, But ever-during night; No pleasing moral verdure, But everlasting blight. The sun of joy has sunken Behind affliction's cloud, And wrapp'd the earth and heavens Deep in an endless shroud. Nine summers have roll'd o'er me, As many springs have smil'd, Nine autumns pour'd their treasure, Nine winters whistled wild, Since on me clos'd and bolted Those ever-frowning gates, And all my views of freedom Have been thro' iron grates. Yet here I breathe, unhappy, No hope of freedom see-- O! when, enchanting goddess, Shall I return to thee? Thron'd on thy native mountain, Beneath the ample sky, Thou heedest not my anguish, Nor hear'st my frequent sigh. Against embattled legions Thy panoply I bore, And from the brow of victors, The wreath of vict'ry tore. But thou hast me deserted, And left to weep in vain, In this all-gloomy dungeon To clank my galling chain! But cease my guilty murmurs, My punishment is right; I forc'd my way to ruin, Against the clearest light. An angel, sent from heaven, Inform'd my op'ning mind, And to the side of virtue, My shooting thoughts inclin'd.