"How pitiless and stern is fate!
That I, to fortune born and pleasure,
Must bend beneath the cruel weight
Of pain and sorrow without measure;
While Destiny thus bounds my whole career
By the dark shadow of the funeral bier.
"In the bright springtime of my life,
Of my youth the very flower,
A melancholy, widowed wife,
I sit and sob the weary hour;
Nor can my heart a taste of joy acquire
In aught save vain regret or vain desire.
"That to me now is bitter pain
Whereat my face was wont to lighten;
And God's bright sunshine seeks in vain
The darkness of my night to brighten:
Nor in my sight is aught so fair or fine
As to arouse a wish that it were mine.
"Wheresoe'er my steps may lead,—
Whether through the forest roaming.
Or perchance by flowery mead,
Or at dawn or in the gloaming,—
Still my fond heart doth ceaselessly deplore,
And mourn the loss of him who is no more.
"If to heaven my eyes I raise,
In some cloud-shape, outlined faintly,
I behold my dear one's face
Smiling with his smile so saintly;
If my glance wanders o'er the ocean's wave,
I seem to see him beckoning from the grave.
"If my eyes in slumber close,
I can hear his dear voice calling;
And my soul with rapture glows
At his soft touch so lightly falling
Upon my cheek. Thus is he near me ever,
Whether I toil or rest; nor can grim Death us sever.
"Have done, O Muse, with thy sad strain!
What boots it to be ever singing?
Yet of my song, this sweet refrain
Is ever in my ears ringing:
The love that's true, with adoration blending,
In absence loseth nought; its growth is never ending."
"Farewell to thee, thou pleasant shore,
The loved, the cherished home to me,
Of infant joy a dream that's o'er!
Farewell, dear France! farewell to thee!
"The sail that wafts me bears away
From thee but half my soul alone:
Its fellow-half will fondly stay,
And back to thee has faithful flown.