Despair

Unhappy man! with storms of passion tost, When first he learnt his vagrant child was lost, On the cold floor his trembling limbs he flung, And with thick blows his hollow bosom rung; Then up he started, and with fix'd surprise, Upon her picture threw his frantic eyes, While thus he cry'd, "In her my life was bound, " Warm in each feature is her mother found: " Perhaps despair has been her fatal guide, " And now she floats upon the weeping tide, " Or on the willow hung with head reclin'd, " All pale and cold she wavers in the wind; " Did I not force her hence by harsh commands? " Did not her soul abhor the nuptial bands?" Teach not, ye sires, your daughters to rebel, By counsel rein their wills, but ne'er compel.