An Elegy

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Title:     An Elegy
Author: George Borrow [More Titles by Borrow]

Where shall I rest my hapless head,
Heavy with grief? how plenteously
Must I the briny torrents shed-
_Alack and woe is me_!

Our chief is gone, at last, at last,
The safeguard of our nation he;
The glory of our age is past-
_Alack and woe is me_!

Unto the swords, O father dear,
Of foemen thirsting horribly
For blood, why leave thy children here?
_Alack and woe is me_!

Of justice is the fountain dried,
And mute the law's high symphony;
Fallen is Europa's brightest pride-
_Alack and woe is me_.

There is a change of times and things
That passeth on eternally.
Decreed by Him, the King of Kings-
_'Tis right_-_but woe is me_!

Now is the earth with violets gay,
And flowers manifold to see;
Now frozen 'neath the winter's sway-
_How brief the roses be_!

Now shews the sun his head of gold
With a superior brilliancy;
Now hides as were he dead and cold-
_Alack and woe is me_.

O father! I will lave thy tomb
With tear-drops well becoming me;
Thy tomb with flowery herbs perfume-
_How brief the roses be_!

[The end]
George Borrow's poem: An Elegy

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