I'll go; and in the anguish of my heart—-
Weep o'er my child—If he must die, my life
Is wrapt in his; I shall not long survive.
'Tis for his sake that I have suffer'd life;
Groan'd in captivity; and outliv'd Hector.—
Yes, my Astyanax! we'll go together;
Together—to the realms of night we'll go.
PITY.
Hadst thou but seen, as I did, how, at last,
Thy beauties, Belvidera, like a wretch
That's doom'd to banishment, came weeping forth,
Whilst two young virgins, on whose arms she lean'd,
Kindly look'd up, and at her grief grew sad!
E'en the lewd rabble, that were gather'd round
To see the sight, stood mute when they beheld her,
Govern'd their roaring throats—and grumbled pity.
FEAR.
Come on, Sir,—here's the place—stand still,—
How fearful 'tis to cast one's eyes so low!
The crows and coughs, that whig the midway air,
Shew scarce so gross as beetles. Half way down,
Hangs one that gathers samphire—dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than one's head,
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice; and yon tall anchoring bark
Seems lesson'd to a cock; her cock, a buoy
Almost too small for fight. The murmuring surge;
That on th' unnumbered idle pebbles chases,
Cannot be heard so high.—I'll look no more,
Lest my brain turn and the disorder make me
Tumble down headlong.
AWE AND FEAR.
Now, all is hush'd and still as death—
How reverend is the face of this tall pile,
Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads,
To bear aloft its arch'd and pond'rous roof,
By its own weight made stedfast and immoveable,
Looking tranquillity! It strikes an awe
And terror on my aking sight. The tombs,
And monumental caves of death look cold,
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart.
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice—
Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear
Thy voice—my own affrights me with its echoes.