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Of gloomy care that weighs upon my heart.
The convict in his cell may close his eyes,
The murderer, doomed to expiate his crime,
May sleep away the night, that is his last;
The usurer upon his downy pillow
May rest in slumber like an honest man,—
While the defender of his country's freedom,
The victor of to-day, craves all in vain
The boon of sleep upon his heavy heart.
And may not my resolve, my steadfastness
Prove after all a useless sacrifice?
What has the blood of all the noble Poles
Accomplished but to rivet closer still
The fettering shackles of their fatherland?
And may not here the ecstasy of freedom
Die out as quickly as it first arose,
A fire of straw, extinguished by a shower?
Or else, may not the despot's energy,
His skill, his wealth, his overwhelming numbers.
Become triumphant over patriotism.
However deeply it inspire the Texans?
For what then sacrifice those faithful men
Who, fathers, brothers and beloved sons.
Will long, ah! long be missed with tears at home?
For what endanger then my brother's life,
Whose loss will blight my mother's peace for aye?
For what then mar the tender blossom's bloom
Which at my death will droop her head and fade?