Thus sighing to the passing gale,
Or wand’ring o’er the rugged steep,
Oft have I told my mournful tale,
And wept my sorrows in the deep.
Few are my days, yet full of pain
I sorrowing tread life’s devious way,
No hopes my weary steps sustain,
My grief, alas! finds no allay.
See yonder rose that withering lies,
Lost are the beauties of its form,