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TO DEATH.
O Death! inveterate spoiler, why didst thou not aim
Thy fatal weapon at this cheerless aching breast,
When thou didst seize on all the treasure of my heart?
Oh! thou art doubly cruel thus to spare my life,
When thou hast wrested from me that which made it dear.
Here is thy victory; it is not in that grave;
Ah, no; 'tis I that am the victim of thy pow'r;
That angel form on which thou'st laid thy chilly hand
Thy fatal weapon at this cheerless aching breast,
When thou didst seize on all the treasure of my heart?
Oh! thou art doubly cruel thus to spare my life,
When thou hast wrested from me that which made it dear.
Here is thy victory; it is not in that grave;
Ah, no; 'tis I that am the victim of thy pow'r;
That angel form on which thou'st laid thy chilly hand
