t thou see this alter'd frame,
Which youthful graces lately did adorn!
Could'st thou behold, and think me still the same,
Thy once gay friend, thus hapless and forlorn?

The cheek, so late by ruddy health embrown'd,
Now pale and faded with incessant tears;
The eye, which once elate, disdain'd the ground,
Now sunk and languid in its orb appears.

Oh! never, never will I cease to grieve!
And sure repentance pardon may obtain!
Can woe unfeign'd incite heav'n to relieve
A wretch opprest with agonizing pain?

Ah no! my hands are stain'd with brother's blood!
A father's curses load my sinking head!
I wish to die, but dare not pass the flood,
For there, as well as here, my hopes are fled.

Sleep, which was meant to chase away the thought,
To lull the sound of dissonant despair,
Appears to me with added terrors fraught,
And my torn heart can find no refuge there.

If, for a moment, I its fetters wear,
And its soft pressure these pale eyes controul,
I injur'd Emma's just reproaches hear,
Or Edward's form appals my shrinking soul.

When in those transitory sleeps I lie,
I oft his beauteous, bleeding form review;
A mild, benignant lustre lights his eye,
As come to bid a friend a last adieu.

I start, I shudder at his tuneful voice,
When it, in soothing whispers, meets my ear;
That sound, which oft has made my heart rejoice,
I now all-trembling and affrighted hear.

Was it thy fault, dear, much-lamented youth
If lovely Emma did thy suit prefer?
She saw thee form'd of tenderness and truth,
And kings might glory to be lov'd by her.

Thy native sweetness won her artless heart;
And well our different characters she knew;
Whilst thy mild looks did happiness impart,
She saw the murderer in each glance I threw.

Yet for this, meanly, did I thee upbraid,
And basely urg'd an elder brother's right;
Then, calling impious passion to my aid,
Forc'd thee, unwilling, to the fatal fight.

Oh! ne'er shall I forget the dreadful hour,
I sheath'd my weapon in thy noble breast;
Thy dying hand clasp'd mine, with feeble pow'r,
And to thy mangled bosom fondly prest.

Whilst o'er thee, I, in speechless anguish hung,
Thou saw'st the wild distraction of my eye;
And, though the chills of death restrain'd thy tongue
Thy bosom heav'd a sympathetic sigh.

With cruel tenderness my friends contriv'd,
To bear me from the drear, polluted shore;
Of every joy, of peace itself depriv'd,