And grief and thought and feeling were no more: Although revived, I judged that life would close, And went to rest, to wonder that I rose: My dreams were dismal,--wheresoe'er I stray'd, I seem'd ashamed, alarm'd, despised, betray'd; Always in grief, in guilt, disgraced, forlorn, Mourning that one so weak, so vile, was born; The earth a desert, tumult in the sea, The birds affrighten'd fled from tree to tree, Obscured the setting sun, and every thing like me. But Heav'n had mercy, and my need at length Urged me to labour, and renew'd my strength. I strove for patience as a sinner must, Yet felt th' opinion of the world unjust: There was my lover, in his joy esteem'd, And I, in my distress, as guilty deemed; Yet sure, not all the guilt and shame belong To her who feels and suffers for the wrong: The cheat at play may use the wealth he's won, But is not honour'd for the mischief done; The cheat in love may use each villain art, And boast the deed that breaks the victim's heart. "Four years were past; I might again have found Some erring wish, but for another wound: Lovely my daughter grew, her face was fair, But no expression ever brighten'd there; I doubted long, and vainly strove to make Some certain meaning of the words she spake; But meaning there was none, and I survey'd With dread the beauties of my idiot-maid. Still I submitted;--Oh! 'tis meet and fit In all we feel to make the heart submit; Gloomy and calm my days, but I had then, It seem'd, attractions for the eyes of men: The sober master of a decent trade O'erlook'd my errors, and his offer made; Reason assented: --true, my heart denied, 'But thou,' I said,'shalt be no more my guide.' "When wed, our toil and trouble, pains and care, Of means to live procured us humble share; Five were our sons,--and we, though careful, found Our hopes declining as the year came round: For I perceived, yet would not soon perceive, My husband stealing from my view to grieve: Silent he grew, and when he spoke he sigh'd, And surly look'd, and peevishly replied: Pensive by nature, he had gone of late To those who preach'd of destiny and fate, Of things foredoom'd, and of election-grace, And how in vain we strive to run our race; That all by works and moral worth we gain Is to perceive our care and labour vain; That still the more we pay, our debts the more remain; That he who feels not the mysterious call, Lies bound in sin, still grov'ling from the fall. My husband felt not: --our persuasion, prayer, And our best reason, darken'd his despair; His very nature changed; he now reviled My former conduct,--he reproach'd my child: He talked of bastard slips, and cursed his bed, And from our kindness to concealment fled; For ever to some evil change inclined, To every gloomy thought he lent his mind, Nor rest would give to us, nor rest himself could find; His son suspended saw him, long bereft Of life, nor prospect of revival left. "With him died all our prospects, and once more