Agnes the Indian Captive. A Poem, in Four Cantos. With Other Poems. By the Rev. John Mitford |
 |
|
 |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VII. |
| VIII. | VIII.
|
| IX. |
| X. |
 | Agnes |  |
197
VIII.
[Oh! best, oh! earliest friend! and is it so]
Oh! best, oh! earliest friend! and is it so,That thou art lying in thy grave-clothes cold,
Ere half youth's pleasant summers yet be told?
And did disease with stealthy foot, and slow,
Come o'er thee, offering now, and now his blow
Withholding, till with joy thine earthly mold
Thou gav'st to him who gave it; nor to hold
Wished longer, nor delay the ravenous foe?
Yet much thou hast escaped of grief and pain,
Of sights the human mind with sorrow bears;
Of avarice brooding o'er his unjust gain,
And cruelty bemocking human fears.
Where could'st thou in these days of ill have lain
Thy peaceful head, nor wept at misery's tears?
| Agnes | |