APRIL.
93
But now the Springtide's pleasant hours returning,
Serve to awaken me to sharper pain;
Recalling scenes of agony and mourning,
Of baffled hope and prayers preferr'd in vain.
Thus shone the Sun, his vernal rays displaying,
Thus did the woods in early verdure wave,
While dire Disease on all I loved was preying,
And flowers seem'd rising but to strew her grave!
Now, 'mid reviving blooms, I coldly languish,
Spring seems devoid of joy to me alone;
Each sound of pleasure aggravates my anguish,
And speaks of beauty, youth, and sweetness gone!
