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All thoughts and occupations to commute, To change their air, their water, and their food, And those old habits suddenly uproot Conform'd to which the vital powers pursued Their functions, such mutation is too rude For man's fine frame unshaken to sustain. And these poor children of the solitude Began ere long to pay the bitter pain That their new way of life brought with it in its train.

On Monnema the apprehended ill Came first; the matron sunk beneath the weight Of a strong malady, whose force no skill In healing, might avert, or mitigate. Yet happy in her children's safe estate Her thankfulness for them she still exprest; And yielding then complacently to fate, With Christian rites her passing hour was blest, And with a Christian's hope she was consign'd to rest.