I saw thy raven hair
Bound by a jewell'd band,
And many a circlet fair
Was on thy beauteous hand,
And a bright chain of Ophir's gold
Was round that neck of Phidian mould.

I saw those tresses twine
Around thy forehead even ;
I saw thy dark eyes shine
As blaze the stars in heaven ;
I gazed upon thy bosom fair
And not one thorn, one grief was there.

I saw that bosom's snow
Stain'd by the crimson gore ;
I heard that voice in woe,
That sang so sweet before :
I saw thy raven tresses torn ;
I heard thee made the ruffian's scorn.

I saw those beauties sold
To heed the Assyrian's beck,
And for thy chain of gold,
Was iron round thy neck ;
But tho' they might to slavery send,
Thy lofty soul they could not bend.

No ; they who were thy Lords
Might sharpen sorrow's dart,
And they might tear the chords
That bound thy noble heart ;
But unto them it was not given
To keep thy soul from finding heaven.