There was a time—ah, ’tis too true— But that time long ago has past— When upon me the Muse had cast Indulgent smile and friendship’s due; But of that age now all too few The thoughts that with me yet will stay; As from the hours of festive play There linger on mysterious notes, And in our minds the memory floats Of minstrelsy and music gay. A plant I am, that scarcely grown, Was torn from out its Eastern bed, Where all around perfume is shed, And life but as a dream is known; The land that I can call my own, By me forgotten ne’er to be, Where trilling birds their song taught me, And cascades with their ceaseless roar, And all along the spreading shore The murmurs of the sounding sea. While yet in childhood’s happy day, I learned upon its sun to smile, And in my breast there seems the while Seething volcanic fires to play. A bard I was, my wish alway To call upon the fleeting wind, With all the force of verse and mind: “Go forth, and spread around its flame, From zone to zone with glad acclaim, And earth to heaven together bind!” But it I left, and now no more— Like a tree that is broken and sere— My natal gods bring the echo clear Of songs that in past times they bore; Wide seas I cross’d to foreign shore, With hope of change and other fate; My folly was made clear too late, For in the place of good I sought The seas reveal’d unto me naught, But made death’s specter on me wait. All these fond fancies that were mine, All love, all feeling, all emprise, Were left beneath the sunny skies, Which o’er that flowery region shine; So press no more that plea of thine, For songs of love from out a heart That coldly lies a thing apart; Since now with tortur’d soul I haste Unresting o’er the desert waste, And lifeless gone is all the art. —Translated by Charles Derbyshire. MY LAST FAREWELL Farewell, dear Fatherland, clime of the sun caress’d, Pearl of the Orient seas, our Eden lost! Gladly now I go to give thee this faded life’s best, And were it brighter, fresher, or more blest, Still would I give it thee, nor count the cost. On the field of battle, ’mid the frenzy of fight, Others have given their lives, without doubt or heed; The place matters not—cypress or laurel or lily white, Scaffold or open plain, combat or martyrdom’s plight, ’Tis ever the same, to serve our home and country’s need. I die just when I see the dawn break, Through the gloom of night, to herald the day; And if color is lacking my blood thou shalt take, Pour’d out at need for thy dear sake, To dye with its crimson the waking ray.