Shall soothe me to slumber more tranquil than thine;
The dark grave shall shield me from shame and from sorrow,
Tho’ the deed and the doom of the guilty are mine.
Not long shall the arm of affection enfold thee;
Not long shalt thou hang on thy mother’s fond breast;
And who with the eye of delight shall behold thee,
And watch thee and guard thee when I am at rest?
And yet it doth grieve me to wake thee, my dearest,
The pangs of thy desolate mother to see;
Thou wilt weep when the clank of my cold chains thou hearest;