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Go to thy silent home!—there no young voice Shall bid thee welcome, no light footstep spring Forth at the sound of thine!—What knows thy heart?

Woman! how dar'st thou taunt me with my woes? Thy children too shall perish, and I say It shall be well!—Why tak'st thou thought for them? Wearing thy heart, and wasting down thy life Unto its dregs, and making night thy time Of care yet more intense, and casting health, Unpriz'd, to melt away, i' th' bitter cup Thou minglest for thyself?—Why, what hath earth To pay thee back for this?—Shall they not live, (If the sword spare them now) to prove how soon All love may be forgotten?—Years of thought, Long faithful watchings, looks of tenderness, That changed not, though to change be this world's law? Shall they not flush thy cheek with shame, whose blood Marks, e'en like branding iron?—to thy sick heart Make death a want, as sleep to weariness? Doth not all hope end thus?—or e'en at best, Will they not leave thee—far from thee seek room For th' overflowings of their fiery souls, On life's wide ocean?—Give the bounding steed,