42
At length a stranger passing by Was startled by her groan;He turn'd, with pity in his eye, To look on orphan Joan.
"Oh! gentle maid! what heavy grief, Thus swells thy labouring breast,Say, can I bring thy woes relief, Or give thy sorrows rest?""Ah! no relief my pangs can know, To hush my bosom's moan,—Yet soon my tears shall cease to flow, For Death will pity Joan."
With wild amaze the stranger gaz'd Upon the weeping maid,When slow her sinking head she rais'd, And thus dejected said:—"Yet, think not gratitude denied, To thee, that all unknown———""Eternal Heav'n!" the youth replied, "'Tis she,—my sister Joan!"
He press'd her to his beating breast;— "Oh! ever lov'd and dear!Revive, and once again be blest, And dry each falling tear.And is it thus that thou art found Neglected and alone;No friend to soothe the pangs that wound The gentle heart of Joan?
