The Lay of an Exile
O! sadly, ye dark rolling waves of the ocean,
O! sadly ye beat on this desolate shore,
And wake, with the voice of your restless commotion,
Sad thoughts of the home 1 must visit no more.
From the far distant land which has spurned me for ever,
The land for whose glory I’ve struggled in vain,
Ye come, O ye waves, but like me ye can never,
O! never return to behold it again!
Thou, bird, that dost wing thy far course o’er the billow,
How happy, like thee, all unfettered to roam,
Each wave-circled rock can afford thee a pillow,
Each isle of the ocean provide thee a home!
But I!-I must wander in sorrow and sadness,
And stifle the thoughts which for ever awake,
Must brood o’er my woes, till they drive me to madness,
And teach my proud spirit to bend or to break!
