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The Ingoldsby Lyrics

By Thomas Ingoldsby [i.e. R. H. Barham]

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The Victim of Sensibility.
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16

The Victim of Sensibility.

Why mourns my Eugene? In his dark eye of blue
Why trembles the tear drop to sympathy due?
Ah! why must a bosom so pure and refin'd
Thus vibrate, all nerve, at the woes of mankind?
Yet dear are the drops by Philanthropy shed
O'er the victim of Sorrow's unfortunate head,
Nor beams there a gem with a ray so divine
As the tear that bedews Sensibility's shrine.
Say, friend of my soul, then, what story of woe,
Thus bids the soft streams of humanity flow;
Oh! give thy Lorenzo thy sorrows to share,
And together we'll mourn for the child of despair.
Like a sunbeam the clouds of the tempest between,
A smile lights the eye of the pensive Eugene;
And thus in soft accents the mourner replies,
“Hang your mustard! it brings the tears into my eyes.”