Thus she lay
On the sick bed of poverty, so worn
With her long suffering and that painful thought
That at her heart lay rankling, and so weak,
That she could make no effort to express
Affection for her infant; and the child,
Whose lisping love perhaps had solaced her
With a strange infantine ingratitude
Shunn'd her as one indifferent. She was past
That anguish, for she felt her hour draw on,
And 'twas her only comfoft now to think
Upon the grave. "Poor girl!" her mother said,
"Thou hast suffered much!" "aye mother! there is none
"Can tell what I have suffered!" she replied,
"But I shall soon be where the weary rest."
And she did rest her soon, for it pleased God
To take her to his mercy.
[Footnote 1: It is proper to remark that the story related in this
Eclogue is strictly true. I met the funeral, and learnt the
circumstances in a village in Hampshire. The indifference of the child
was mentioned to me; indeed no addition whatever has been made to the
story. I should have thought it wrong to have weakened the effect of a
faithful narrative by adding any thing.]
ECLOGUE IV.
THE SAILOR'S MOTHER.
WOMAN.
Sir for the love of God some small relief
To a poor woman!
TRAVELLER.
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