 | The Poetic Writings of Thomas Cradock, 1718-1770 |  |
Scene the 3d
ApameUnhappy Melitus! I mourn thy crimes,
I mourn thy punishment—alass! thou'st rack'd
With the most cruel torture, conscious guilt.
How wondrous sad thy fate? thou feel'st the pangs,
Without the blest result, of dear repentance.
Thou wou'dst be sorry for thy fault, but can'st not,
So harden'd is thy heart! In what strong chain,
The sinner's soul is bound? he wou'd be free;
Vain is his wish; stern fate's inexorable,
And holds him fast enfetter'd in his wretchedness.
Oh! poor ill fated brother! I will pray for thee;
Spite of my reverent love for Socrates,
—Tis nature's dictate—I will pray for thee—
With thee compar'd, he's happy, whilst thy soul
Feels even now the measure of it's woes.
| The Poetic Writings of Thomas Cradock, 1718-1770 | |