Have not, like me, a deadly wound!
Near home, perforce, alas, I stray,
Perforce pursue my destin'd way,
Through scenes where all my trouble grows,
And where alone remembrance flows.
Like evening swallows, still my wings
Float round in low, perpetual rings;
But never fold the plume for rest
One moment in the tranquil nest;
And have no strength to reach the skies,
No power, no hope, no wish to rise!

"Blame me not, _Fancy_, if I now restrain
Thy wandering footsteps, now thy wings confine;
Tis the decree of Fate,--it is not mine!
For I would let thee free and widely stray--
Would follow gladly, tend thee on thy way,
And never of the devious track complain,
Never thy wild and sportive flights disdain!
Though reasonless those graceful moods may be,
They still, alas! were passing sweet to me.

"Unhappy that I am, compell'd to bind
This murmuring captive! one who ever strove
By each endearing art to win my love;
Who, ever unoffending, ever bright,
Danc'd in my view, and pleas'd me to delight!
She scatter'd showers of lilies on my mind;
For, oh! so fair, so fresh, and so refin'd,
Her child-like offerings, without thorns to pain,