And dropp'd, in haste, the tributary tear;
Then from th' adhering clasp the keys unbound,
190
And consolation for their sorrows found.
Death has his infant-train; his bony arm
Strikes from the baby-cheek the rosy charm;
The brightest eye his glazing film makes dim,
And his cold touch sets fast the lithest limb:
He seized the sick'ning boy to Gerard lent[25],
When three days' life, in feeble cries, were spent;