234. A Mother’s Lament for her Son’s Death
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ATE gave the word, the arrow sped, And pierc’d my darling’s heart;And with him all the joys are fled Life can to me impart. By cruel hands the sapling drops, In dust dishonour’d laid;So fell the pride of all my hopes, My age’s future shade. The mother-linnet in the brake Bewails her ravish’d young;So I, for my lost darling’s sake, Lament the live-day long. Death, oft I’ve feared thy fatal blow. Now, fond, I bare my breast;O, do thou kindly lay me low With him I love, at rest!
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