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Though wisdom reprove it, let fancy's power
Still dear to this heart be the evening hour,
St Leon having ruined himself and family by gambling, seeks refuge for his wife and children in foreign countries, frequently enduring the most appalling calamities and distressing privations.
GODWIN'S HISTORY OF HIS TRAVELS.
TIME, Twilight.-SCENE, The interior of a Cottage.
The dreadful thunder storm at length is past;
(Looks out at a lattice.)
I see again the mountain's lofty brow
(She goes to a lamp.) How very pale this flickering lamp now burns; Its yellow rays scarce reach the dusky floor, Blending its mist and gloominess around; It is indeed a melancholy sight! An emblem, as 'tis said, of human hope Suspended in our sepulchre of care. Yet will I not repine-urged on by fate, 'Tis ours to wander thus from place to place, Ruined-despised: the father hath undone The offsprings of our love—the tempter's art Ensnared him to lay waste in madd'ning zeal, Their fortunes i' the world; so our wretched lives We pine away in penance for the past— Helpless-and sad; and oft in silent night, When tears bedew the pillow of my grief, The voice of duty whispers in mine ear, -I, as a mother, should be calm and firm ; Meanwhile my children, with dejected mien,
Raising to me their sweet affectionate eyes,
St Leon-still I love to breathe his name,
Once more returned-I hasten to receive
'Tis well-quite well!
Time hung a little heavy as it should,
In absence such as thine-of thee I thought,
Thy danger in the storm-and sighed and prayed-
Sweet minister of comfort! who can see
I see I know I feel myself accursed;
I see thee as an angel rise, Smiling forgiveness; nearer, and nearer stillUntil I fold thee in my shuddering arms,
To wet thy bosom with my guilty tears ;-
Oppressed with grief, oppressed with care,
A burden more than I can bear,
O life! thou art a galling load,
To wretches such as I!
Must be my bitter doom;