(The cruel race in sport destroy)
Whirl’d round the sling, the rapid stone
Laid bare my pinion to the bone.
Yet reach I living this abode,
What signal mercies Heav’n bestow’d!
Left in this grove to sigh alone
What fate has Turturella known?”
“More signal yet, by far,” said she,
“The mercies Heav’n bestow’d on me.”
“Alas! what woes,” Columbo cry’d,