« 이전계속 »
SINCE our Country, our God-Oh, my Sire! Demand that thy Daughter expire;
Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow
Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now!
And the voice of my mourning is o'er,
If the hand that I love lay me low,
And of this, oh, my Father! be sure-
And the last thought that soothes me below.
Though the virgins of Salem lament,
When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd, When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd, Let my memory still be thy pride,
And forget not I smiled as I died!
OH! SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM.
OH! SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:
And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread;
Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead!
Away; we know that tears are vain,
That death nor heeds nor hears distress:
Will this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less? And thou-who tell'st me to forget,
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.
MY SOUL IS DARK.
MY SOUL IS DARK-Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear ;
And let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again;
If in these eyes there lurk a tear,
"Twill flow, and cease to burn my
But bid the strain be wild and deep,