2/2 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
How oft you've plucked your locks of gold, And cast them at my feet !
Whene'er with friends, in pleasant speech,
I 'neath your shade reclined, Your outstretched arms o'er all would reach,
In benediction kind.
And, if the fate of loved ones dead
At eve we would recall. In dews, upon each downcast head,
How fast your tears would fall !
And, while we've talked of days gone by,
Or spoke in freedom's cause, How oft you've answered with a sigh,
Or murmured your applause !
Here was I wont to quaff my wine,
So luscious to the taste — A present from the graceful vine
That clung around your waist —
And still that clings, and seems to love, Though faded all your charms,
Still reaching these deep snows above. To clasp you in her arms.
Yet why should I bewail you here,
Or mourn o'er your decay. Since the fond friends that made you dear
Have also passed away ?
An equal fate we're doomed to know. The self-same lot we share :
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