While sad I sit, oft musing over
Happy days for ever fled;
A lonely lodger in a corner,
Like some hermit in his shed.
All around seems blithe and merry;
My light's dim, and harp's unstrung,
While memory turns to yonder valley,
On whose flowery banks I've sung.
Dirty, ragged, and down-hearted,
Far from country, friends, and home;
And as far from kindness parted,
Doom'd for work the world to roam.
While the cheerful game hath flourish'd,
Gaily the glad table round;
From my eye the tear unnoticed,
Oft hath fallen to the ground.
Now they sing of female beauty,
Or the treachery of men,
Or of robbers seeking booty,
Like the tiger from his den.
Lovely forms and handsome faces,
Serve to gild the gay deceit;
Amorous ditties serve for graces,
Both before and after meat.
‘ Tis theirs to share life's fleeting joys,
Mine to drag the galling chain;
But still a hope my spirit buoys,
That the sun will shine again.
If their pleasures were not carnal,
I might long with them to share;
Did they lead to joys eternal,
When they laugh, I might despair.
But when time makes all surrender,
Nor permits the least excuse,
Happy they, whom time's avenger,
Charges not with its abuse.