Song .-

I am so weary, Love !--a chain,
Whose ev'ry link is form'd of pain,
Clings round me, like the serpent-coil,
Whose graspings crush its folded spoil.

I am so weary, Love !--the night
Is not more welcome to the sight
Of the toil-bow'd, and sinking slave,
Than unto me would be the grave.

I am so weary, Love !--my fate
Frowns still more darkly desolate,
Than when, with shudd'ring grief, and dread,
To thee my first farewell was said!

I am so weary, Love!--O! when
Shall rest, and peace, be mine again?--
Not till above my cold, cold bed,
The emerald turf be lightly spread !