Sonnet: To Charles Lloyd

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.