The tender mother's joy and pride,—
Became the fell destroyer's prey;
While tasting bliss without alloy,
Thrice happy with his youthful bride.
Alas! how frail all mortal joy,
When cast on life's tempestuous tide.
Hygenia lends her aid in vain,—
No balm can heal his aching breast,—
Nor anxious friends relieve one pain,
Or give the sinking suff'rer rest.