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216 The silent tear that down her cheek would stray, And wet the pillow where resign'd she lay. Her stiffen'd limbs, all powerless and weak; Her clay-cold parting kiss; her pale damp cheek; Her awful prayer for mercy, at the last, Fainter and fainter, till her spirit pass'd— The image of the next lov'd sufferer too Is ever, ever present to my view. Her ceaseless cough—her quick and panting breath, With all the dreadful harbingers of death. No anxious mother watching at her side, To whisper consolation as she died.

Oh! do not ask me why I thus complain To you a stranger, far across the main— Bear with a bleeding heart that loves to tell Its sorrows, and on all its pangs to dwell. A strange relief the mourner's bosom knows In clinging close and closer to its woes. In unheard plaints it consolation finds And weeps and murmurs to the heedless winds.