Was lost in the moan of a nation undone.
7.
And shriek’d the young wife o’er the child of her pain,
That never should breathe on her bosom again;
And breasts that were warm with their nursling before,
But heaved, in their grief, for the boy that she bore.
8.
And the bride shrunk aghast, like the death-stricken dove,
When she woke in the cold frozen clasp of her love:
And a groan for the noble, the lovely outpour’d,