 | Miscellanies in Prose and Verse |  |
SCENE XI.
CONSTANTIAalone.
Time flies o'er me with pitying wings,
But time to me no comfort brings:
Tho' trees and rocks with years decay,
My sorrows ne'er shall pass away!
Still here I live, and mourn in vain
A life of slow-consuming pain:
O let me yield at once my breath,
And lay me gently down in death.
But time to me no comfort brings:
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My sorrows ne'er shall pass away!
Still here I live, and mourn in vain
A life of slow-consuming pain:
O let me yield at once my breath,
And lay me gently down in death.
While absent hence, in thoughtless innocence,
My Sylvia wanders, let this hand resume,
Its melancholy labour.
[Returns to her Work.
My Sylvia wanders, let this hand resume,
Its melancholy labour.
| Miscellanies in Prose and Verse | |