Marked for much woe in this unpitying world!
Poor friendless wanderer!----
Her hair was black as a raven's wing,
Her cheek the tulip's hue did wear,
Her voice was soft as when night winds sing,
Her brow as as a moonbeam fair;
Her sire had joined the wake of war;--
The battle-shock, the shout, and scar
He knew, and gained a glorious grave--
Such si the guerdon of the brave!--
Her anguished mother's suffering heart
Could not endure a widow's part;
She sunk bneath her soul's distress,
And left her infant parentless.--
She hath no friend on this cold, bleak earth,
To give her shelter, a home and a hearth;
Through life's dreary desert alone she must wend,
For alas! the wretched have never a friend!
And should she stray from virtue's way,
The world will scorn, and its scorn can slay.
Ah! shame hat enough to wring the breast
With a weight of sorrow and guilt oppress'd;
But oh! 'tis coldly cruel to wound
The bosom whose blood must gush unbound.
No tear is so bright as the tear that flows
For erring woman's unpitied woes;
And blest be for ever his honored name
Who shelters an orphan from sorrow and shame!