The Lament（2 / 2）

then, who her pangs and pains will soothe

her sorrows share, and make them less?

ye winged hours that o'er us pass'd,

enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd,

your dear remembrance in my breast

my fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd:

that breast, how dreary now, and void,

for her too scanty once of room!

ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd,

and not a wish to gild the gloom!

the morn, that warns th' approaching day,

awakes me up to toil and woe;

i see the hours in long array,

that i must suffer, lingering, slow:

full many a pang, and many a throe,

keen recollection's direful train,

must wring my soul, were phoebus, low,

shall kiss the distant western main.

and when my nightly couch i try,

sore harass'd out with care and grief,

my toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye,

keep watchings with the nightly thief:

or if i slumber, fancy, chief,

reigns, haggard—wild, in sore affright:

ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief

from such a horror-breathing night.

o thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse

now highest reign'st, with boundless sway

oft has thy silent-marking glance

observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray!

the time, unheeded, sped away,

while love's luxurious pulse beat high,

beneath thy silver-gleaming ray,

to mark the mutual-kindling eye.

oh! scenes in strong remembrance set!

scenes, never, never to return!

scenes, if in stupor i forget,

again i feel, again i burn!

from ev'ry joy and pleasure torn,

life's weary vale i'll wander thro';

and hopeless, comfortless, i'll mourn

a faithless woman's broken vow!