Seeking for hidden pearls to wear,
Fame’s golden wreath, the victors bear.
Oh! yonder I see a lone bird flying,
Seeking her nest with voice of sighing.
Dear mother! as the wearied bird her downy nest,
So seek I thee, for quiet rest.
My lot is now to tread
A troubled path whence light hath fled;
But ne’er do I thy words forget,
Or smiles of love from thee I’ve met.