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Oppress'd by sorrow's hopeless ban, In this most dreary place There dwelt a desolated man, The last of all his race; One daughter, when the rest were dead, Long with her loving tone Sustain'd his heart, but she had fled, And he was left alone.

"Beata! in the blissful clime   Where now thy lot is cast, Doth the young floweret reach its prime    Unsmitten by the blast? Is there a sky without a cloud?    An undeclining day? No famine-pang? no icy shroud?    My angel-daughter, say!

Oh, speak once more, with one sweet tone Confirm the promise blest, Whose spirit hush'd the parting groan When thou didst sink to rest:" Thus rose amid the rayless gloom   Poor Agusina's moan, As with his lost one in the tomb    He held communion lone.

Oft, in the sacred Book of God, With tearful toil he sought, Till in his soul affliction's rod A peaceful moral wrought;