'Yet still for himself did he mourn, And, indignant, I fled from the view: For my wrongs were not easily borne, And my anger was hard to subdue. 'One prop, one sole comfort, remain'd, Who saw me o'erladen with grief, Who saw (though I never complain'd) My heart was too sick for relief. 'One, who always attentive and dear, Every effort exerted to please, My desolate prospect to cheer, To study my health and my ease. 'For his was each toil and each care, The due observations to keep; To sit watching amid the night air, And fancy his father asleep. 'Yet, dejected, and sadly forlorn, I dar'd in my heart to repine,-- To lament that I ever was born, Though such worth and affection were mine. 'Alas! I was destin'd to know, However intense my despair, I still was reserv'd for a blow, More painful and cruel to bear. 'Yes! this only one fell in the main! --I eagerly struggled to save; But I strove with the current in vain, And saw him sink under the wave! 'My head was astounded and wild,-- Incessant I roam'd on the shore, To seek the dead corse of my child, And to weep on his bosom once more. 'Seven days undisturb'd was the sky, The eighth was a tempest most drear, I saw the huge billow rise high! I saw my lost treasure appear! 'Like a dream it seem'd passing away:-- I hurried me onward to meet, And clasp the inanimate clay, When senseless I sunk at his feet. 'These hands, now enfeebled by time, The last pious offices paid! Age sorrow'd o'er youth in its prime, And my boy near his mother was laid. 'Now scar'd by the griefs I have known, Wounds, apathy only can heal, My joys and my sorrows are flown, For I have forgotten to feel. 'But I know my Creator is just, That his hand will deliver me soon; I have learnt to submit and to trust, Though I finish my journey alone.' Aldborough, September 7, 1800. * * * * * LINES TO MRS. RADCLIFFE, ON FIRST READING THE MYSTERIES OF UDOLPHO. Enchantress! whose transcendant pow'rs, With ease, the massy fabric raise;-- Beneath whose sway the tempest low'rs, Or lucid stream meänd'ring plays;-- Accept the tribute of a heart, Which thou hast often made to glow With transport, oft with terror start, Or sink at strains of solemn woe!