The piteous sobs that choke the Virgin's breath

For him, the fair betrothéd Youth, who lies Cold in the narrow dwelling, or the cries With which a Mother wails her darling's death, These from our nature's common impulse spring, Unblam'd, unprais'd; but o'er the piléd earth Which hides the sheeted corse of grey-hair'd Worth, If droops the soaring Youth with slacken'd wing; If he recall in saddest minstrelsy Each tenderness bestow'd, each truth imprest, Such grief is Reason, Virtue, Piety! And from the Almighty Father shall descend Comforts on his late evening, whose young breast Mourns with no transient love the Agéd Friend.

1796.