Some, as to fertile lands, a boon bestow,
And [seeds], that else had perish’d, live and grow;
Some fall on barren soil, and thence proceed
The idle blossom, and the useless weed.
But how her griefs the Widow’s heart impress’d 350
Must from the tenor of her life be guess’d.
Rigid she was, persisting in her grief,
Fond of complaint, and adverse to relief.
In her religion she was all severe,
And as she was, was anxious to appear.