You think I have a merry heart,
Because my songs are gay,
But oh! they all were taught to me
By Friends now far away:
The Bird retains his silver note,
Though bondage chains his wing;
His song is not a happy one—
I’m saddest when I sing!
I heard them first in that sweet home
I never more shall see,
And now each song of joy, has got
A plaintive turn for me!
Alas ’tis vain in winter time
To mock the songs of spring,
Each note recalls some withered leaf—
I’m saddest when I sing!
Of all the Friends I used to love
My harp remains alone,
Its faithful voice still seems to be
An echo of my own:
My tears when I bend over it
Will fall upon its string,
Yet those who hear me, little think
I’m saddest when I sing!