I remember, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white,
The vi'lets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,—
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heav'n
Than when I was a boy.

Weep not too much, my darling;
Sigh not too oft for me;
Say not the face of Nature
Has lost its charms for thee.
I have enough of anguish
In my own breast alone;
Thou canst not ease the burden, love,
By adding still thy own.

I know the faith and fervour
Of that true heart of thine;
But I would have it hopeful
As thou wouldst render mine.
At night when I lie waking,
More soothing it will be
To say, 'She slumbers calmly now,'
Than say, 'She weeps for me.'

When through the prison-grating
The holy moon-beams shine,
And I am wildly longing
To see the orb divine;
Not crossed, deformed, and sullied,
By those relentless bars
That will not show the crescent moon,
And scarce the twinkling stars,

It is my only comfort
To think, that unto thee
The sight is not forbidden,
The face of Heaven is free.
If I could think Zerona
Is gazing upward now;
Is gazing with a tearless eye,
A calm, unruffled brow;

That moon upon her spirit
Sheds sweet, celestial balm,—
The thought, like Angel's whisper,
My misery would calm.
And when, at early morning,
A faint flush comes to me
Reflected from those glowing skies
I almost weep to see;

Or when I catch the murmur
Of gently swaying trees,
Or hear the louder swelling
Of the soul-inspiring breeze,
And pant to feel its freshness
Upon my burning brow,
Or sigh to see the twinkling leaf,
And watch the waving bough;

If from those fruitless yearnings
Thou wouldst deliver me,
Say that the charms of Nature
Are lovely still to thee.
While I am thus repining,
Oh! let me but believe,
'These pleasures are not lost to her,'
And I will cease to grieve.

Oh! scorn not Nature's bounties:
My soul partakes with thee!
Drink bliss from all her fountains:
Drink for thyself and me!
Say not,'My soul is buried
In dungeon gloom with thine';
But say, 'His heart is here with me,
His spirit drinks with mine!'