Thou soothing saw'st thy wife in her last pains;
Her last sigh couldst receive; couldst press her hands,
Her arms raised to thee, and her pledge remains
In thine, her daughter still thy love demands.
But I, not wishing it, am in thy breast
A dagger striking, thus again to view
That fatal night's dark image to suggest,
When life with death its fearful struggles drew.
Now ended are her pains, for ever o'er!
Herself she pray'd for it, with pious eyes
To heaven, and hope, amidst the pangs she bore,
Shone on her brow serene in death to rise.
O! were it given us to penetrate
The secrets of the tomb, how oft our grief
Would it not soften down, however great!
In this same moment who of the belief
Could not assure thee, while thou dost lament,
Unhappy, thy lost wife's untimely doom,
That she is there enjoying permanent
A lot more happy than this side the tomb?
Thou, silent, lowly bendest down thy head;
But thou mayst not be silent; answer me;
Sound, if thou darest it, the abyss to tread,
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FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA.
