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to a star.
Perchance they do not die, that dwell in thee,
Perchance theirs is a darker doom than ours;
Unchanging woe, and endless misery,
And mourning that hath neither days nor hours.
Horrible dream!—Oh dark and dismal path,
Where I now weeping walk, I will not leave thee;
Earth has one boon for all her children—death:
Open thy arms, oh mother! and receive me!
Take off the bitter burthen from the slave,
Give me my birthright! give—the grave, the grave!
Perchance theirs is a darker doom than ours;
Unchanging woe, and endless misery,
And mourning that hath neither days nor hours.
Horrible dream!—Oh dark and dismal path,
Where I now weeping walk, I will not leave thee;
Earth has one boon for all her children—death:
Open thy arms, oh mother! and receive me!
Take off the bitter burthen from the slave,
Give me my birthright! give—the grave, the grave!
