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Give but one span of earth for fight,
And I once more am free!
A single hand, a single brand,
Against uncounted foes;
A heart that's withered like a leaf,
In brooding o'er its woes,
Are surely not such deadly odds
For stout men to oppose.
But no; bound here midst rotting straw,
Within this noisome cell,
They joy to see a proud heart break,
And ring its own sad knell;
They joy to hear me, Silverwood,
Bid thee and life farewell.
So let it be; sweet Silverwood,
On daylight's latest beam,
My spirit seeks again thy glades,
Revisits flower and stream;
And fleets through thee, unchanged in love,
In this my dying dream.
