Come, now again thy Woes impart,
Tell all thy Sorrows, all thy Sin;
We cannot heal the throbbing Heart,
Till we discern the Wounds within.
Compunction weeps our Guilt away,
The Sinner’s Safety is his Pain;
Such Pangs for our Offences pay,
And these severer Griefs are Gain.
VAGRANT.
The Son came back—he found us wed,
Then dreadful was the Oath he swore;—
His Way through Blackburn Forest led,—
His Father we beheld no more.
Of all our daring Clan, not one,
Would on the doubtful Subject dwell;
For all esteem’d the injur’d Son,
And fear’d the Tale, which he could tell.
But I had mightier Cause for Fear,
For slow and mournful round my Bed,
I saw a dreadful Form appear,—
It came when I and Aaron wed.
(Yes! we were wed, I know my Crime,—
We slept beneath the Elmin Tree;
But I was grieving all the time,
And Aaron frown’d my Tears to see.
For he not yet had felt the Pain,
That rankles in a wounded Breast;
He wak’d to Sin, then slept again,
Forsook his God, yet took his Rest.—
But I was forc’d to feign Delight,
And Joy in Mirth and Music sought,—
And Mem’ry now recalls the Night,
With such Surprise and Horror fraught,
That Reason felt a moment’s Flight,
And left a Mind, to Madness wrought.)
When waking, on my heaving Breast,
I felt a Hand as cold as Death;
A sudden Fear my Voice suppress’d,
A chilling Terror stopp’d my Breath.—