the exile's lament.
149
THE EXILE'S LAMENT.
I am not happy here, mother!
I pine to go to you;
I weary for your voice and smile,
Your love—the food and true!
I pine to go to you;
I weary for your voice and smile,
Your love—the food and true!
My English home is cold, mother,
And dark and lonely too!
I never shall be happy here,—
I pine to go to you!
And dark and lonely too!
I never shall be happy here,—
I pine to go to you!
Full many a simple melody
I make of home and you;
But no one loves and sings the song
As Lizzie used to do!
I make of home and you;
But no one loves and sings the song
As Lizzie used to do!
I've friends, who kindly welcome give,
And whom I'll ne'er forget;
But they love others more than me,
And I am not their pet!
And whom I'll ne'er forget;
But they love others more than me,
And I am not their pet!
