Ne'er will I forsake thee, mother,
Dear thy closing life shall be;
Never will I love another
As my heart now loveth thee!
Say'st thou that I speak but blindly?
For its truth I here engage:
Thou my youth hast nourish'd kindly,
And I will console thine age!

Live we for our own good only? —
Still receive — yet nothing give?
Shall I leave thee — old and lonely?
Never, mother, whilst I live!
Still with thee I'll roam the wild-wood,
Still thy growing cares assuage; —
What thou wert unto my childhood,
That will I be to thine age!