The heart bowed down by weight of woe to weakest hope will cling.

The heart bow'd down by weight of woe, To weakest hope will cling, To thought and impulse while they flow, That can no comfort bring, That can, that can no comfort bring, With those exciting scenes will blend, O'er pleasure's pathway thrown But mem'ry is the only friend That grief can call its own.

I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls, With vassals and serfs at my side, And of all who assembled within those walls, That I was the hope and the pride.

The light of other days is faded, And all their glories past.