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

 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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