“Hamet! oh, wrong me not!—I too could speak
Of sorrows—trace them on my faded cheek,
In the sunk eye, and in the wasted form,
That tell the heart hath nursed a canker-worm!
But words were idle—read my sufferings there,
Where grief is stamp’d on all that once was fair.
“Oh, wert thou still what once I fondly deem’d,
All that thy mien express’d, thy spirit seem’d,
My love had been devotion!—till in death
Thy name had trembled on my latest breath.