You own I'm complacent, but tell me I'm cold,
Then must I my youth's early sorrows unfold,
Must waken remembrance to joys that are fled,
Now hope is extinguished and passion is dead.
I have lost in life's morn all that life could endear,
And if I seem cheerful, I smile thro' a tear.

My parents, tho' humble, were happy and good,
We could boast of our honour, if not of our blood;
My lover, ah! how the sad tale shall I tell,
for his country he fought - for his country he fell.
He was brave, he was true, to my soul he was dear,
his fame claims a smile, but it shines tro' a tear.

In vain would I picture my agonized heart,
My parents' soft soothings no balm could impart;
They sunk o'er the child whom they could not relieve,
And the cold hand of death left me only to grieve.
Thus fated to suffer, that moment draws near,
When you'll neither distinguish a smile nor a tear.