The piteous sobs that choke the Virgin's breath
       &nbspFor him, the fair betrothéd Youth, who lies
       &nbspCold in the narrow dwelling, or the cries
With which a Mother wails her darling's death,
These from our nature's common impulse spring,
Unblam'd, unprais'd; but o'er the piléd earth
       &nbspWhich hides the sheeted corse of grey-hair'd Worth,
       &nbspIf droops the soaring Youth with slacken'd wing;
If he recall in saddest minstrelsy
       &nbspEach tenderness bestow'd, each truth imprest,
Such grief is Reason, Virtue, Piety!
And from the Almighty Father shall descend
       &nbspComforts on his late evening, whose young breast
Mourns with no transient love the Agéd Friend.