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To the still blessing of unvision'd rest, Who may imagine or conjecture?—Blessing! Alas! it is a dull unjoyous blessing To lose, with consciousness of pain, all consciousness: The pleasure of sweet sounds and beauteous sights. Bride, sister, friends,—all vanish'd and extinct, That stilly, endless rest may be unbroken. Oh, oh! he is a miserable man, Who covets such a blessing!—Hush, bad thoughts! Rebellious, faithless thoughts! My misery Is deep enough to make ev'n this a blessing.

It cannot be! is it some fantasy? Who and what art thou?

The thing I seem; thy miserable sister.

My gen'rous, loving sister, in her love Running such fearful risk to comfort me.

Nay, more than this, dear brother; more than comfort; I come to set thee free.