And the transient trouble of drowning—what was it when match'd with the pains
Of the hellish heat of a wretched life rushing back thro' the veins?
Of the hellish heat of a wretched life rushing back thro' the veins?
XII.
Why should I live? one son had forged on his father and fled,
And if I believed in a God, I would thank him, the other is dead,
And there was a baby-girl, that had never look'd on the light:
Happiest she of us all, for she past from the night to the night.
Why should I live? one son had forged on his father and fled,
And if I believed in a God, I would thank him, the other is dead,
And there was a baby-girl, that had never look'd on the light:
Happiest she of us all, for she past from the night to the night.
XIII.
But the crime, if a crime, of her eldest-born, her glory, her boast,
But the crime, if a crime, of her eldest-born, her glory, her boast,
