To soothe him in an evil hour
The bud has balm, oh! may the flower
Possess the same prevailing power!
Nor forc'd to leave thy native land,
To pledge a cold, unwilling hand,
May'st thou receive the hard command.
My mother had not half the zeal,
The aching fondness which I feel,
She had no broken heart to heal!
And I was friendless when she died,