 | The path of sorrow, or, the lament of youth |  |
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KOSCIUSKO'S RESIGNATION.
“No; she denied me what was mine—my roof,
And shall not have what is not hers—my tomb!”
Byron.
And shall not have what is not hers—my tomb!”
Byron.
I.
In the pride of my country I fell—In the den of despair I endured!
Shall I bid thee, my country, farewell!
Though bound, and in prison immured?
Let the trump of captivity sound,
Brave Poland my destiny, o'er!
In despair let thy voice resound—
Kosciusko now welters in gore!
II.
Though the day of my glory is over—Though my country is lost—thou hast cried—
Yet, the Vistula's banks can discover—
It was for my Poland I died!
Though my children shall cry in despair,
And my land in captivity dwell!
Yet, my bosom has purchased a scar,
Which shall last, till I bid thee farewell.
III.
Oh! forget not my Poland, no, never—The day that I suffered for thee!
For my soul must revere thee forever,
Though, triumph I never may see.
In the midst of her ire she bound me,
In prison immured I must dwell!
But my soul would endure to protect thee,
Farewell, my brave Poland, farewell!
IV.
To the land of the brave and the free—To the bright silver sea of my birth—
May thy scion arise as a tree,
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Thou faithful, thou honest and just—
For my soul shall remember thy urn!
Though thy fabric has faded to dust;
Yet; thy soul shall to heaven return.
V.
Lithuania! Lithuania! arise—But my bones shall now moulder away!
For my soul is convoked to the skies,
Where such amnesty never shall stay.
Lo!—the veil of poor Poland is rent!
Yes, her destiny hovers around!
And Cracow's cathedral laments,
For the trump of my freedom to sound.
VI.
Oh! gratitude, where is thy lore?Though I seek not thy prodigal praise;
I shall see thee, my Poland, no more,
For my covenant shortens my days!
Though in prison my life was immured,
Yet, I mastered my sorrows full well—
Though her torments I safely endured,
Now I die!—oh, my country, farewell!
VII.
Farewell to the land of the free!On this mount shall they bury my bones;
And no tinsel shall sully my grave—
Be the name of my country, my stone!
Could my prayer but avail thee, my Pole,
I would pour out my life where I dwell!
I would lift up my heart and my soul—
But I die—oh! brave Poland, farewell!
VIII.
In the midst of my country's renown,I was honest and true to my post!
In her sorrows I'd give her the crown,
And I die for her—bleeding and lost!
My cohorts, the brave and the free,
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Remember!—I suffered for thee—
Now I leave thee—my Poland—farewell!
| The path of sorrow, or, the lament of youth | |