Of her young heart’s affections? Oh! the thought
Of my untimely fate will haunt her dreams,
Which should have been so tranquil!—and her soul,
Whose strength was but the lofty gift of love,
Even unto death will sicken.
Ans. All that faith
Can yield of comfort, shall assuage her woes;
And still, whate’er betide, the light of heaven
Rests on her gentle heart. But thou, my son!
Is thy young spirit master’d, and prepared