You say 'That man was made to mourn.'
Would you have me believe it—
Believe earth holds no recompense
Until death bids me leave it—
Believe there is but misery
And toil on toil, in store for me?

No. I do not, cannot believe,
While heaven smiles above me,
That I was doom'd on earth to mourn
With naught to cheer or love me.
Wise Bard, although your dirge rings true,
I do not agree with you.