Sonnet Xx.

The piteous sobs that choke the Virgin's breath For him, the fair betrothed Youth, who les Cold in the narrow dwelling, or the cries With which a Mother wails her Darling's death, These from our Nature's common impulse spring Unblamed, unpraised; but o'er the piled earth, Which hides the sheeted corse of gray-haired Worth, If droops the soaring Youth with slackened wing; If he recall in saddest minstrelsy Each tenderness bestowed, each truth impressed; Such Grief is Reason, Virtue, Piety! And from the Almighty Father shall descend Comforts on his late Evening, whose young breast Mourns with no transient love the aged friend.