(I’m more than glad it was not I or you).
Think ye, O reader,—while they scann’d the gulf,
What feelings must have rack’d their brain!
And picture in your mind the swain,
As forth he wandered through the grove,
Endeavouring to persuade his love. * * *
The thought, alone, is dreadful to one’s self.
Dwell but a moment on the sorrowing scene:—
Her arms entwined around his neck—
His lips her orisons doth check—