  [Born at Zelazowa-Wola, near Warsaw, Poland—1809-1849.] Though French blood flowed in Chopin's veins His music was of Polish strains As he was born in a Polish town, Which for its name should win renown; And Zelazowa-Wola stood Above all cities great and good In favor with great Chopin who Was to his birthplace ever true. When scarcely eight great Fame began To court him ere he was a man. But Fate was cruel as well as kind. In love affairs he did not find The comfort that his great soul sought And which to him could have been brought By only one, a lady wise, Oft when we hear his waltzes sweet, "Come dance, come dance," call to our feet 'Tis hard indeed for us to think That Chopin oft stood on the brink Of dreadful Melancholy's lair, Where in great anguish and despair, So sick in body, mind and soul, With only Death as his sure goal, Sweet and lively airs he wrote And filled with joy his every note. For ten long years the white plague sought To take his life—for health he fought, But when his sweetheart left his side He ceased his fight and soon he died. |
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