And begg’d her offerings for a time might cease.
A calm succeeded, but too like the one
That causes terror ere the storm comes on:
A secret sorrow lived in Anna’s heart,
In Stafford’s mind a secret fear of art;
Not long they lasted - this determined foe
Knew all her claims, and nothing would forego.
Again her letter came, where Anna read,
“My child, one cause of my distress, is dead:
Heav’n has my infant.” - “Heartless wretch!” she cried