your dear remembran my breast
my fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd:
that breast, how dreary now, and void,
for her too sty 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' approag 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 recolle's direful train,
must wring my soul, were phoebus, low,
shall kiss the distaern main.
and when my nightly couch i try,
sore
The Lament(4/6)