What happiness is to the lover left

What happiness is to the lover left
Of peace bereft,
What freedom for his captive heart remains
Held in her chains?

Sometimes unto the mountain peaks he goes
Driven by his woes,
Sometimes within the barren wilderness
Hides his distress.

Curses on Love, and may his home disgraced
Be laid in waste!
To me the world and all the joys I sought
Are less than naught.

Gladly, O Executioner, to Death
I yield my breath;
And only wonder who shall after me
Thy victim be!
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Author of original: 
Fighan
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