SONNET.
BY HOLCROFT.
Though pale and wan my cheeks appear,
Though dead to joy and hope I live,
Though the deep sigh and trickling tear,
Are all the signs of life I give;
The blood will blushing spread my face,
Again my languid pulse will beat,
If, in some unexpected place,
I cruel Laura chance to meet.
Thus will the touch of homicide,
As we in ancient legends read,
Recal the flowing purple tide,
And make the lifeless body bleed