Of every heart on earth infixes deep its restless twists:
A land of sorrows and of tears where never smile was seen,
She wander'd in the land of clouds thro' valleys dark, list'ning
Dolours and lamentations; waiting oft beside a dewy grave
She stood in silence, list'ning to the voices of the ground, 115
Till to her own grave-plot she came, and there she sat down,
And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the hollow pit.
'Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction?
Or the glist'ning Eye to the poison of a smile?
Why are Eyelids stor'd with arrows ready drawn, 120
Where a thousand fighting men in ambush lie,
Or an Eye of gifts and graces show'ring fruits and coined gold?
Why a Tongue impress'd with honey from every wind?
Why an Ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in?
Why a Nostril wide inhaling terror, trembling, and affright? 125
Why a tender curb upon the youthful, burning boy?
Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?'
The Virgin started from her seat, and with a shriek
Fled back unhinder'd till she came into the vales of Har.
