(seq. 45)

39

Thy [mussler?], & they feet & hands confine,

As if a lifeless clod at liberty,

Might wander from its residence & stray ~

But did not passion melt within thy soul,

To see the frantic widow weep & wail?

Down from her cheeks distilld in crystal flood

The pearly drops, that from a broken heart,

Impetuous rools in agonizing grief,

And swollen words in broken accents spent,

Half utterd & their meaning left untold;

Disconsolate her drooping spirits fail,

And tears & sobs the last rescource she finds;

Alas! she says one half on me is dead,

Tis gone, & I survive the fate decreed;

O! wheather fly, was ever fate like mine?

Abroad the world is false, at home a death.

Unmovd, couldst thou without a sympathy,

Forbear to weep as spirits do in heav'n,

If e'er a tear could flow when happifyd,