XIII.
If lamentations and complaints could rein
The course of rivers as they rolled along,
And move on desert hills, attired in song,
The savage forests, if they could constrain
Fierce tigers and chill rocks to entertain
The sound, and with less urgency than mine,
Lead tyrant Pluto and stern Proserpine,
Sad and subdued with magic of their strain;
Why will not my vexatious being, spent
In misery and in tears, to softness soothe
A bosom steeled against me? with more ruth
An ear of rapt attention should be lent
The voice of him that mourns himself for lost,
Than that which sorrowed for a forfeit ghost!