THE TROUBADOUR.
253
They came with griefs, and pains, and cares,
All that the heart breaks while it bears;
Desolate as I feel alone
I should not weep that thou art gone.
Alas! the tears that still will fall
Are selfish in their fond recall;—
If ever tears could win from Heaven
A loved one, and yet be forgiven,
Mine surely might; I may not tell
The agony of my farewell!
A single tear I had not shed,—
'Twas the first time I mourn'd the dead:—
It was my heaviest loss, my worst,—
My father!—and was thine the first!
Farewell! in my heart is a spot
Where other griefs and cares come not,
