Page:Elegiac Sonnets 2.pdf/108

Rh

RIEND of the wretched! wherefore should the eye Of blank Despair, whence tears have ceased to flow, Be turn'd from thee?—Ah! wherefore fears to die He, who compell'd each poignant grief to know, Drains to its lowest dregs the cup of woe?

Would Cowardice postpone thy calm embrace, To linger out long years in torturing pain? Or not prefer thee to the ills that chase Him, who too much impoverish'd to obtain From right, implores her aid in vain!