I wish I was by that dim lake,
where sinful souls their farewell take
of this vain world, and half-way lie
In death's cold shadow, ere they die
There, there, far from thee
Decietful world, my home should be,
Where, come what might of gloom and pain,
false hope should ne'er decieve again.
The lifeless sky, the mournful sound
Of unseen waters falling round
The dry leaves quiv'ring o'er my head
LIke man, unquiet ev'n when dead!
These, ay, these shall wean
My soul from life's deluding scene
And turn each thought, o'ercharged with
gloom,
Like willows, downward tow'rds the
tomb.
As they, who to their couch at night
Would win repose, first quence the light,
So must the hopes, that keep this breast
Awake, be quench'd ere it can rest.
Cold, cold, this heart must grow,
Unmoved by either joy or woe,
Like freeing founts, where all that's
thrown,
Within their current turns to stone.