Page:Modern poets and poetry of Spain.djvu/239

And sorrowing solitary in the world,
⁠Without scarce one to whom to weep his woe;
For to the grave relentless death had hurl'd,
⁠One after one, all he was born to know.

In the same season, thou wilt see sufficed
⁠Thy loss to open forth the wounds I bear,
I lost a mother kind, and idolized,
⁠My joy, and comforter in every care;

On her steps my reaved father to the grave
⁠Soon followed, and both sank o'erwhelm'd in tears,
Calling my name afar; the cries they gave
⁠Fell on my heart, but not upon my ears.

I ran, I flew, I came, but all in vain:
⁠Both now beneath the fatal stone reposed,
And I my height of anguish to attain,
⁠But found the covering earth yet newly closed.

Thou in thy grave affliction more hast found
⁠Thee to console, if possible; (how turn
Rebels against me thy own woes around!
From my rude voice perforce thou hast to learn

That he who fortune flattered not before,
⁠Will neither flatter grief) thou in thy loss
Hast found a thousand comforts, which forbore

⁠My cruel fate to grant my path across;