Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

On doctrines dwell, and every point enforce
By quoting much, the scholar's sure resource:
For he alone can show us on each head
What ancient schoolmen and sage fathers said:
No worth has knowledge, if you fail to show
How well you studied, and how much you know:
Is faith your subject, and you judge it right
On theme so dark to cast a ray of light?

Be it that faith the orthodox maintain,
Found in the rubric, what the creeds explain;
Fail not to show us on this ancient faith

(And quote the passage) what some martyr saith:
Dwell not one moment on a faith that shocks
The minds of men sincere and orthodox;
That gloomy faith, that robs the wounded mind
Of all the comfort it was wont to find
From virtuous acts, and to the soul denies
Its proper due for alms and charities;
That partial faith, that, weighing sins alone;
Lets not a virtue for a fault atone;

That starving faith, that would our tables clear,
And make one dreadful Lent of all the year;
And cruel too, for this is faith that rends
Confiding beauties from protecting friends;
A faith that all embracing, what a gloom
Deep and terrific o'er the land would come!
What scenes of horror would that time disclose!
No sight but misery, and no sound but woes;
Your nobler faith, in loftier style convey'd,
Shall be with praise and admiration paid :
On points like these your hearers all admire
A preacher's depth, and nothing more require;
Shall we a studious youth to college send,
That every clown his words may comprehend?
"Tis for your glory, when your hearers own
Your learning matchless, but the sense unknown.
Thus honour gain'd, learn now to gain a friend,
And the sure way is-never to offend;

[ocr errors]

For, James, consider-what your neighbours do
Is their own business, and concerns not you:
Shun all resemblance to that forward race
Who preach of sins before a sinner's face;
And seem as if they overlook'd a pew,
Only to drag a failing man in view:
Much should I feel, when groaning in disease,
If a rough hand upon my limb should seize ;
But great my anger, if this hand were found
The very doctor's, who should make it sound:
So feel our minds, young priest, so doubly feel,
When hurt by those whose office is to heal.

"Yet of our duties you must something tell,
And must at times on sin and frailty dwell;
Here you may preach in easy, flowing style,
How errors cloud us, and how sins defile:
Here bring persuasive tropes and figures forth,
To show the poor that wealth is nothing worth;
That they, in fact, possess an ample share
Of the world's good, and feel not half its care;
Give them this comfort, and, indeed, my gout
In its full vigour causes me some doubt;
And let it always, for your zeal, suffice,
That vice you combat, in the abstract-vice:
The very captious will be quiet then;
We all confess we are offending men:
In lashing sin, of every stroke beware,
For sinners feel, and sinners you must spare;
In general satire, every man perceives
A slight attack, yet neither fears nor grieves;

But name th' offence, and you absolve the rest,
And point the dagger at a single breast.

"Yet are there sinners of a class so low,
That you with safety may the lash bestow;
Poachers, and drunkards, idle rogues, who feed
At others' cost, a mark'd correction need:
And all the better sort, who see your zeal,
Will love and reverence for their pastor feel;
Reverence for one who can inflict the smart,
And love, because he deals them not a part.
"Remember well what love and age advise ;
A quiet rector is a parish prize,

Who in his learning has a decent pride;
Who to his people is a gentle guide;
Who only hints at failings that he sees;
Who loves his glebe, his patron, and his ease,
And finds the way to fame and profit is to please."
The nephew answer'd not, except a sigh
And look of sorrow might be term'd reply;
He saw the fearful hazard of his state,
And held with truth and safety strong debate;
Nor long he reason'd, for the zealous youth
Resolved, though timid, to profess the truth;
And though his friend should like a lion roar,
Truth would he preach, and neither less nor more.
The bells had toll'd-arrived the time of prayer,
The flock assembled, and the 'squire was there:
And now can poet sing, or proseman say,

The disappointment of that trying day?

As he who long had train'd a favourite steed, (Whose blood and bone gave promise of his speed,)

Sanguine with hope, he runs with partial eye
O'er every feature, and his bets are high;
Of triumph sure, he sees the rivals start,
And waits their coming with exulting heart;
Forestalling glory, with impatient glance,
And sure to see his conquering steed advance;
The conquering steed advances-luckless day!
A rival's Herod bears the prize away.
Nor second his, nor third, but lagging last,
With hanging head he comes, by all surpass'd;
Surprise and wrath the owner's mind inflame,
Love turns to scorn, and glory ends in shame ;-
Thus waited, high in hope, the partial 'squire,
Eager to hear, impatient to admire:

When the young preacher in the tones that find
A certain passage to the kindling mind,
With air and accent strange, impressive, sad,
Alarm'd the judge-he trembled for the lad;
But when the text announced the power of grace,
Amazement scowl'd upon his clouded face,
At this degenerate son of his illustrious race
Staring he stood, till hope again arose,

That James might well define the words he chose:
For this he listen'd; but, alas! he found
The preacher always on forbidden ground.

And now the uncle left the hated pew,
With James, and James's conduct in his view:
A long farewell to all his favourite schemes!
For now no crazed fanatic's frantic dreams
Seem'd vile as James's conduct, or as James :
All he had long derided, hated, fear'd,
This from the chosen youth the uncle heard ;-
The needless pause, the fierce disorder'd air,
The groan for sin, the vehemence of prayer,
Gave birth to wrath, that, in a long discourse
|Of grace, triumphant rose to fourfold force:

He found his thoughts despised, his rules trans- | And when the spirits of her lord were low,
gress'd,

And while the anger kindled in his breast, [press'd:
The pain must be endured that could not be ex-
Each new idea more inflamed his ire,
As fuel thrown upon a rising fire:

A hearer yet, he sought by threatening sign
To ease his heart, and awe the young divine;
But James refused those angry looks to meet,
Till he dismiss'd his flock, and left his seat:
Exhausted then he felt his trembling frame,
But fix'd his soul-his sentiments the same;
And therefore wise it seem'd to fly from rage,
And seek for shelter in his parsonage:
There, if forsaken, yet consoled to find
Some comforts left, though not a few resign'd;
There, if he lost an erring parent's love,
An honest conscience must the cause approve;
If the nice palate were no longer fed,
The mind enjoy'd delicious thoughts instead;
And if some part of earthly good was flown,
Still was the tithe of ten good farms his own.
Fear now, and discord, in the village reign,
The cool remonstrate, and the meek complain;
But there is war within, and wisdom pleads in vain:
Now dreads the uncle, and proclaims his dread,
Lest the boy-priest should turn each rustic head;
The certain converts cost him certain wo,
The doubtful fear lest they should join the foe:
Matrons of old, with whom he used to joke,
Now pass his honour with a pious look;
Lasses, who met him once with lively airs,
Now cross his way, and gravely walk to prayers:
An old companion, whom he long has loved,
By coward fears confess'd his conscience moved;
As the third bottle gave its spirit forth,
And they bore witness to departed worth,
The friend arose, and he too would depart :—
"Man," said the 'squire," thou wert not wont to
Hast thou attended to that foolish boy, [start;
Who would abridge all comforts, or destroy?"
Yes, he had listen'd, who had slumber'd long,
And was convinced that something must be wrong:
But, though affected, still his yielding heart,
And craving palate, took the uncle's part;

The lass presumed the wicked cause to show :
"It was the wretched life his honour led,
And would draw vengeance on his guilty head;
Their loves (Heaven knew how dreadfully dis-
tress'd

The thought had made her!) were as yet unbless'd:
And till the church had sanction'd"-Here she saw
The wrath that forced her trembling to withdraw.
Add to these outward ills, some inward light,
That show'd him all was not correct and right:
Though now he less indulged--and to the poor,
From day to day, sent alms from door to door;
Though he some ease from easy virtues found,
Yet conscience told him he could not compound;
But must himself the darling sin deny,
Change the whole heart; but here a heavy sigh
Proclaim'd, "How vast the toil! and ah! how

weak am I!"

James too has trouble-he divided sees
A parish, once harmonious and at ease:
With him united are the simply meek,

The warm, the sad, the nervous, and the weak;
The rest his uncle's, save the few beside
Who own no doctrine, and obey no guide;
With stragglers of each adverse camp, who lend
Their aid to both, but each in turn offend.

Though zealous still, yet he begins to feel
The heat too fierce, that glows in vulgar zeal ;
With pain he hears his simple friends relate
Their week's experience, and their woful state:
With small temptation struggling every hour,
And bravely battling with the tempting power;
His native sense is hurt by strange complaints
Of inward motions in these warring saints;
Who never cast on sinful bait a look
But they perceive the devil at the hook:
Grieved, yet compell'd to smile, he finds it hard
Against the blunders of conceit to guard;
He sighs to hear the jests his converts cause,
He cannot give their erring zeal applause;
But finds it inconsistent to condemn
The flights and follies he has nursed in them :
These, in opposing minds, contempt produce,
Or mirth occasion, or provoke abuse:

Wine now oppress'd him, who, when free from On each momentous theme disgrace they bring,

wine,

Could seldom clearly utter his design;

But though by nature and indulgence weak,
Yet, half converted, he resolved to speak;

And, speaking, own'd, "that in his mind the youth
Had gifts and learning, and that truth was truth:

The 'squire he honour'd, and, for his poor part,
He hated nothing like a hollow heart:
But 'twas a maxim he had often tried,

That right was right, and there he would abide;
He honour'd learning, and he would confess
The preacher had his talents--more or less:
Why not agree? he thought the young divine
Had no such strictness-they might drink and dine;
For them sufficient-but he said before,-

That truth was truth, and he would drink no more."
This heard the 'squire with mix'd contempt and
pain;

He fear'd the priest this recreant sot would gain.
The favourite nymph, though not a convert made,
Conceived the man she scorn'd her cause would

aid;

[blocks in formation]

Her shape was slender, and her features small,
But graceful, easy, unaffected all :
The liveliest tints her youthful face disclosed;
There beauty sparkled, and there health reposed;
For the pure blood that flush'd that rosy cheek
Spoke what the heart forbade the tongue to speak;
And told the feelings of that heart as well,
Nay, with more candour than the tongue could
tell :

Yet if some cause his earnest wish denied,
He begg'd to know it, and he bow'd and sigh'd.
The lady own'd that she was loath to part,
But praised the damsel for her gentle heart,
Her pleasing person, and her blooming health,
| But ended thus, "Her virtue is her wealth."
"Then is she rich!" he cried, with lively air;
“But whence, so please you, came a lass so fair?"
"A placeman's child was Anna, one who died

Though this fair lass had with the wealthy dwelt, And left a widow by afflictions tried;
Yet like the damsel of the cot she felt;
And, at the distant hint or dark surmise,

The blood into the mantling cheek would rise.
Now Anna's station frequent terrors wrought

In one whose looks were with such meaning
fraught;

For on a lady, as an humble friend,
It was her painful office to attend.

Her duties here were of the usual kind,
And some the body harass'd, some the mind:
Billets she wrote, and tender stories read,
To make the lady sleepy in her bed;
She play'd at whist, but with inferior skill,
And heard the summons as a call to drill;
Music was ever pleasant till she play'd
At a request that no request convey'd ;
The lady's tales with anxious looks she heard,
For she must witness what her friend averr'd:
The lady's taste she must in all approve,

Hate whom she hated, whom she loved must love;
These, with the various duties of her place,
With care she studied, and perform'd with grace;
She veil'd her troubles in a mask of ease,
And show'd her pleasure was a power to please.
Such were the damsel's duties; she was poor-
Above a servant, but with service more:
Men on her face with careless freedom gazed,
Nor thought how painful was the glow they raised;
A wealthy few to gain her favour tried,
.But not the favour of a grateful bride :
They spoke their purpose with an easy air,
That shamed and frighten'd the dependent fair;
Past time she view'd, the passing time to cheat,
But nothing found to make the present sweet,
With pensive soul she read life's future page,
And saw dependent, poor, repining age.

But who shall dare t' assert what years may bring,
When wonders from the passing hour may spring?
There dwelt a yeoman in the place, whose mind
Was gentle, generous, cultivated, kind;
For thirty years he labour'd; fortune then
Placed the mild rustic with superior men
A richer Stafford who had lived to save,
What he had treasured to the poorer gave;
Who with a sober mind that treasure view'd,
And the slight studies of his youth renew'd:
He not profoundly, but discreetly read,
And a fair mind with useful culture fed,

She to support her infant daughter strove,
But early left the object of her love;
Her youth, her beauty, and her orphan state,
Gave a kind countess interest in her fate;
With her she dwelt, and still might dwelling be,
When the earl's folly caused the lass to flee;
A second friend was she compell'd to shun,
By the rude offers of an uncheck'd son;

I found her then, and with a mother's love
Regard the gentle girl whom you approve ;
Yet, e'en with me protection is not peace,
Nor man's designs, nor beauty's trial, cease;
Like sordid boys by costly fruit they feel,
They will not purchase, but they try to steal."
Now this good lady, like a witness true,
Told but the truth, and all the truth she knew;
And 'tis our duty and our pain to show
Truth this good lady had not means to know.
Yes, there was lock'd within the damsel's breast
A fact important to be now confess'd;
Gently, my muse, th' afflicting tale relate,
And have some feeling for a sister's fate.

Where Anna dwelt, a conquering hero came,→
An Irish captain, Sedley was his name ;
And he too had that same prevailing art,
That gave soft wishes to the virgin's heart:
In years they differ'd; he had thirty seen
When this young beauty counted just fifteen;
But still they were a lovely, lively pair,
And trod on earth as if they trod on air.

On love, delightful theme! the captain dwelt,
With force still growing with the hopes he felt;
But with some caution and reluctance told,
He had a father, crafty, harsh, and old;
Who, as possessing much, would much expect,
Or hoth, for ever, from his love reject:
Why then offence to one so powerful give,
Who (for their comfort) had not long to live?
With this poor prospect the deluded maid,
In words confiding, was indeed betray'd;
And, soon as terrors in her bosom rose,
The hero fled; they hinder'd his repose.
Deprived of him, she to a parent's breast
Her secrets trusted, and her pains express'd;
Let her to town (so prudence urged) repair,
To shun disgrace, at least to hide it there;
But ere she went, the luckless damsel pray'd
A chosen friend might lend her timely aid :

Then thought of marriage; “But the great," said he, “ Yes; my soul's sister, my Eliza, come,

"I shall not suit, nor will the meaner me."
Anna he saw, admired her modest air,
He thought her virtuous, and he knew her fair;
Love raised his pity for her humble state,
And prompted wishes for her happier fate;
No pride in money would his feelings wound,
Nor vulgar manners hurt him and confound:
He then the lady at the hall address'd,
Sought her consent, and his regard express'd;

Hear her last sigh, and ease thy Anna's doom."
"Tis a fool's wish," the angry father cried,
But, lost in troubles of his own, complied:
And dear Eliza to her friend was sent,
T' indulge that wish, and be her punishment:
The time arrived, and brought a tenfold dread;
The time was past, and all the terror fled;
The infant died; the face resumed each charm,
And reason now brought trouble and alarm:

[ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]
[ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

I must," she judged, "these cruel lines expose, Or fears, or worse than fears, my crime disclose."

[ocr errors]

The letter shown, he said, with sober smile,

Too good and kind-but ah! too young to trust."
Anna return'd, her former place resumed,
And faded beauty with new grace rebloom'd;
And if some whispers of the past were heard,
They died innoxious, as no cause appear'd;
But other cares on Anna's bosom press'd,
She saw her father gloomy and distress'd;
He died o'erwhelm'd with debt, and soon was Some longings these, without dispute,
shed

The filial sorrow o'er a mother dead :

Anna, your friend has not a friendly style: Say, where could you with this fair lady dwell, Who boasts of secrets that she scorns to tell?" "At school," she answer'd: he "At school!" replied; Nay, then I know the secrets you would hide :

[ocr errors]

Some youthful gaspings for forbidden fruit: Why so disorder'd, love? are such the crimes

She sought Eliza's arms, that faithful friend was That give us sorrow in our graver times?

wed;

Then was compassion by the countess shown, And all th' adventures of her life are known.

And now beyond her hopes-no longer tried By slavish awe-she lived a yeoman's bride; Then bless'd her lot, and with a grateful mind Was careful, cheerful, vigilant, and kind; The gentle husband felt supreme delight, Bless'd by her joy, and happy in her sight; He saw with pride in every friend and guest High admiration and regard express'd: With greater pride, and with superior joy, He look'd exulting on his first-born boy; To her fond breast the wife her infant strain'd, Some feelings utter'd, some were not explain'd; And she enraptured with her treasure grew, The sight familiar, but the pleasure new.

Yet there appear'd within that tranquil state Some threatening prospect of uncertain fate; Between the married when a secret lies, It wakes suspicion from enforced disguise: Still thought the wife upon her absent friend, With all that must upon her truth depend; There is no being in the world beside,

[ocr errors]

Who can discover what that friend will hide;
Who knew the fact, knew not my name or state,
Who these can tell cannot the fact relate;
But thou, Eliza, canst the whole impart,
And all my safety is thy generous heart."

Mix'd with these fears-but light and transient these

[ocr errors]

Fled years of peace, prosperity, and ease:
So tranquil all, that scarce a gloomy day
For days of gloom unmix'd prepared the way;
One eve, the wife, still happy in her state,
Sang gayly, thoughtless of approaching fate:
Then came a letter, that (received in dread,
Not unobserved) she in confusion read;
The substance this; 'Her friend rejoiced to find
That she had riches with a grateful mind;
While poor Eliza had from place to place
Been lured by hope to labour for disgrace;
That every scheme her wandering husband tried,
Pain'd while he lived, and perish'd when he died."
She then of want in angry style complain'd,
Her child a burden to her life remain'd,
Her kindred shunn'd her prayers, no friend her
soul sustain'd.

"Yet why neglected? Dearest Anna knew
Her worth once tried, her friendship ever true;
She hoped, she trusted, though by wants oppress'd,
To lock the treasured secret in her breast;
Yet, vex'd by trouble, must apply to one,
For kindness due to her for kindness done."
In Anna's mind was tumult, in her face
Flushings of dread had momentary place:

Come, take a present for your friend, and rest
In perfect peace-you find you are confess'd."
This cloud, though past, alarm'd the conscious
wife,

Presaging gloom and sorrow for her life;
Who to her answer join'd a fervent prayer,
That her Eliza would a sister spare:

If she again-but was there cause?-should send,
Let her direct-and then she named a friend :
A sad expedient untried friends to trust,
And still to fear the tried may be unjust:
Such is his pain, who, by his debt oppress'd,
Seeks by new bonds a temporary rest.

Few were her peaceful days till Anna read
The words she dreaded, and had cause to dread :-
"Did she believe, did she, unkind, suppose
That thus Eliza's friendship was to close?
No! though she tried, and her desire was plain,
To break the friendly bond, she strove in vain :
Ask'd she for silence? why so loud the call,
And yet the token of her love so small?
By means like these will you attempt to bind
And check the movements of an injured mind?
Poor as I am, I shall be proud to show
What dangerous secrets I may safely know:
Secrets to men of jealous minds convey'd,
Have many a noble house in ruins laid :
Anna, I trust, although with wrongs beset,
And urged by want, I shall be faithful yet;
But what temptation may from these arise,
To take a slighted woman by surprise,

Becomes a subject for your serious care-
For who offends, must for offence prepare."
Perplex'd, dismay'd, the wife foresaw her doom;
A day deferr'd was yet a day to come;
But still, though painful her suspended state,
She dreaded more the crisis of her fate;
Better to die than Stafford's scorn to meet,
And her strange friend perhaps would be discreet:
Presents she sent, and made a strong appeal
To woman's feelings, begging her to feel;
With too much force she wrote of jealous men,
And her tears falling spoke beyond the pen;
Eliza's silence she again implored,
And promised all that prudence could afford.

[ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

A hue like this the western sky displays,
That glows a while, and withers as we gaze.
Again the friend's tormenting letter came-
"The wants she suffer'd were affection's shame;
She with her child a life of terrors led,
Unhappy fruit! but of a lawful bed:
Her friend was tasting every bliss in life,
The joyful mother, and the wealthy wife;
While she was placed in doubt, in fear, in want,
To starve on trifles that the happy grant;
Poorly for all her faithful silence paid,
And tantalized by ineffectual aid:
She could not thus a beggar's lot endure;
She wanted something permanent and sure:
If they were friends, then equal be their lot,
And she was free to speak if they were not.'
Despair and terror seized the wife, to find
The artful workings of a vulgar mind;
Money she had not, but the hint of dress
Taught her new bribes, new terrors to redress :
She with such feeling then described her woes,
That envy's self might on the view repose;
Then to a mother's pains she made appeal,
And painted grief like one compell'd to feel.
Yes! so she felt, that in her air, her face,
In every purpose, and in every place;
In her slow motion, in her languid mien,
The grief, the sickness of her soul were seen.
Of some mysterious ill the husband sure,
Desired to trace it, for he hoped to cure ;
Something he knew obscurely, and had seen
His wife attend a cottage on the green;
Love, loath to wound, endured conjecture long,
Till fear would speak, and spoke in language
strong.

"All I must know, my Anna-truly know
Whence these emotions, terrors, troubles flow;
Give me thy grief, and I will fairly prove
Mine is no selfish, no ungenerous love."

Now Anna's soul the seat of strife became, Fear with respect contended, love with shame; But fear prevailing was the ruling guide, Prescribing what to show and what to hide.

"It is my friend," she said—“ But why disclose A woman's weakness struggling with her woes? Yes, she has grieved me by her fond complaints, The wrongs she suffers, the distress she paints: Something we do-but she afflicts me still, And says, with power to help, I want the will; This plaintive style I pity and excuse, Help when I can, and grieve when I refuse; But here my useless sorrows I resign, And will be happy in a love like thine. The husband doubted; he was kind but cool:""Tis a strong friendship to arise at school;

Once more then, love, once more the sufferer aid,

I too can pity, but I must upbraid;

Of these vain feelings then thy bosom free,
Nor be o'erwhelm'd by useless sympathy."

The wife again despatch'd the useless bribe,
Again essay'd her terrors to describe;
Again with kindest words entreated peace,
And begg'd her offerings for a time might cease.
A calm succeeded, but too like the one
That causes terror ere the storm comes on:
A secret sorrow lived in Anna's heart,
In Stafford's mind a secret fear of art;

Not long they lasted-this determined foe
Knew all her claims, and nothing would forego;
Again her letter came, where Anna read,
"My child, one cause of my distress, is dead :
Heaven has my infant."-"Heartless wretch!" she
cried,

"Is this thy joy ?"-"I am no longer tied :
Now will I, hastening to my friend, partake
Her cares and comforts, and no more forsake;
Now shall we both in equal station move,
Save that my friend enjoys a husband's love."
Complaint and threats so strong the wife amazed,
Who wildly on her cottage neighbour gazed;
Her tones, her trembling, first betray'd her grief;
When floods of tears gave anguish its relief.

She fear'd that Stafford would refuse assent,
And knew her selfish friend would not relent;
She must petition, yet delay'd the task,
Ashamed, afraid, and yet compell'd to ask;
Unknown to him some object fill'd her mind,
And, once suspicious, he became unkind :
They sate one evening, each absorb'd in gloom,
When, hark! a noise, and, rushing to the room,
The friend tripp'd lightly in, and laughing said, “I
come."

Anna received her with an anxious mind,
And meeting whisper'd, "Is Eliza kind ?"
Reserved and cool, the husband sought to prove
The depth and force of this mysterious love.
To naught that pass'd between the stranger friend
And his meek partner seem'd he to attend ;
But, anxious, listen'd to the lightest word
That might some knowledge of his guest afford ;
And learn the reason one to him so dear
Should feel such fondness, yet betray such fear.
Soon he perceived this uninvited guest,
Unwelcome too, a sovereign power possess'd;
Lofty she was and careless, while the meek
And humbled Anna was afraid to speak:
As mute she listen'd with a painful smile,
Her friend sate laughing and at ease the while,
Telling her idle tales with all the glee
Of careless and unfeeling levity.

With calm good sense he knew his wife endued.
And now with wounded pride her conduct view'd;
Her speech was low, her every look convey’d-—
"I am a slave subservient and afraid."
All trace of comfort vanish'd if she spoke,
The noisy friend upon her purpose broke;
To her remarks with insolence replied,
And her assertions doubted or denied ;
While the meek Anna like an infant shook,
Wo-struck and trembling at the serpent's look.

"There is," said Stafford, "yes, there is a causeThis creature frights her, overpowers, and awes." Six weeks had pass'd-"In truth, my love, this friend

Has liberal notions; what does she intend?
Without a hint she came, and will she stay
Till she receives the hint to go away?"

Confused the wife replied, in spite of truth, "I love the dear companion of my youth." "Tis well," said Stafford ;" then your loves renew; Trust me, your rivals, Anna, will be few."

[ocr errors]

Though playful this, she felt too much distress'd T'admit the consolation of a jest ;

Ill she reposed, and in her dreams would sigh,
And, murmuring forth her anguish, beg to die;

« AnteriorContinuar »