Hast found a thousand comforts, which forbore
My cruel fate to grant my path across;
Thou soothing saw’st thy wife in her last pains;
Her last sigh couldst receive; couldst press her hands,
Her arms raised to thee, and her pledge remains
In thine, her daughter still thy love demands.
But I, not wishing it, am in thy breast
A dagger striking, thus again to view
That fatal night’s dark image to suggest,
When life with death its fearful struggles drew.