STANZAS.
101
Blow where ye list on this sad earth,
Some soul-corroding care has birth,
And Grief in all her accents speaks;
Here dark Dejection groans, and there
Wild Phrenzy, daughter of Despair,
Unconscious shrieks.
Ah! Were it Death had torn apart
The tie that bound him to my heart,
Tho' fatal still the pang would prove;
Yet had it soothed this bleeding breast
To know, I had till then possest
Hillario's love.
And where his dear, dear ashes slept,
Long nights and days I then had wept,
Till by slow-mining Grief opprest
As Memory fail'd, its vital heat
This wayward heart had lost, and beat
Itself to rest.
