Poems (Eliza Gabriella Lewis)/The Exile's Lament
THE EXILE'S LAMENT.
Breathe but those words, "beloved come," And, as the pilgrim to his shrine, The wild bird to its nest; So will my willing spirit greet Those words so welcome and so sweet, And seek with thee to rest.
The breeze that passeth o'er my brow Perchance but late hath passed o'er thine; Oh! could it bear one tone To cheer an Exile's weary lot,Breathing, belov'd, and unforgot, I'm thine, and thine alone.
Toil would be sweet, with that dear voice To sooth me, heedless—though the storm Were bursting o'er my head; Those words, like music from afar, Or light, shed from hope's guiding star, Would speak of days long fled.
Ah! no! of home nor joy it speaks;—The cold blast chills my fainting form, The Exile's dream hath past! Deserted—sad—with failing breath, He asks one boon alone—come death, Thou true friend and the last.