234. A Mother's Lament for her Son's Death

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 FATE gave the word, the arrow sped,
 And pierc’d my darling’s heart;
And with him all the joys are fled
 Life can to me impart.
By cruel hands the sapling drops, In dust dishonour’d laid; So fell the pride of all my hopes, My age’s future shade.
The mother-linnet in the brake Bewails her ravish’d young; So I, for my lost darling’s sake, Lament the live-day long.
Death, oft I’ve feared thy fatal blow.
Now, fond, I bare my breast; O, do thou kindly lay me low With him I love, at rest!

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