And none but the guilty should weep over me.
And yet I must wake thee, and whilst thou art weeping,
To calm thee I’ll stifle my tears for a while.
Thou smil’st in thy dreams whilst thus placidly sleeping,
And O how it wounds me to gaze on thy smile.
Alas, my sweet babe, with what pride I had press’d thee
To the bosom that now throbs with terror and shame,
If the pure tie of virtue’s affection had bless’d thee,
And hail’d thee the heir of thy father’s high name.
But now with remorse that avails not I mourn thee,