All their chains were light to me,
Gazing on thy soul unbent.
Would the sycophants of him
Now so deaf to duty's prayer,
Were his borrowed glories dim,
In his native darkness share?
Were that world this hour his own,
All thou calmly dost resign,
Could he purchase with that throne
Hearts like those which still are thine?
My Chief, my King, my Friend, adieu!
Never did I droop before;
Never to my Sovereign sue,
As his foes I now implore:
All I ask is to divide
Every peril he must brave;
Sharing by the hero's side
His fall—his exile—and his grave.
[First published, Poems, 1816.]
- —— to Friendship's prayer.—[MS.]
'T would not gather round his throne
Half the hearts that still are thine.—[MS.]
Let me but partake his doom,
Be it exile or the grave.
or, All I ask is to abide
All the perils he must brave,
All my hope was to divide.—[MS.]
or, Let me still partake his gloom,
Late his soldier, now his slave—
Grant me but to share the gloom
Of his exile or his grave.—[MS.]