On the wild Waves the ruffian men appear’d,
And now approach’d, and now were at her Side;
Her tears they see not and her Cries deride.
Seaz’d in rude Arm, the trembling maid they take; 340
“Mercy!” her Cry; and, as aloud she cried,
Some unseen form in pitying accents spake:
“Choose first or last thy bliss! now wake, fond maid, awake!”
She woke and wonder’d; then again she slept
And was with Tracy in the meanest Cot,
Wherever Poverty and Terror crept.