We could fill a book with facts illustrative of the sincere and strong affection of sisters, aunts, and grandmothers. But perhaps widows afford the most affecting examples of the constancy of woman’s love.
“The new-made widow, too, I’ve sometimes spied;
Sad sight! slow moving o’er the prostrate dead;
Listless she crawls along in doleful black,
While bursts of sorrow burst from either eye,
Fast falling down her now untasted cheek.
Prone on the lonely grave of the dear man
She drops, whilst busy meddling memory,
In barbarous succession, musters up
The past endearments of her softer hours,