Oh! how can I this fatal Loss furvive?
This endless Separation bear,
From her, whose Friendship when alive
Was most my Comfort here?
In her lov'd Bosom, all my Cares were eas'd;
My Joys were doubled; and my Griefs appeas'd;
Ev'n all my Soul so freely was reveal'd,
I'descarce a Thought, that was from her conceal'.
O rigid Fate!
Why was she born so soon? or I so late?
Why was I destin'd to possess
But one short, septenary Happiness?
Had the staid longer, I had still improv'd;
For by her Conduct, all my Actions mov'd:
Ah wretched Maid! now great Sulpitia's gone,
No Friend hast thou, no Guide to rest upon.
Yet curb thy Sighs! thy boudless Grief conceal;
Since none can ease the Torments thou dost feel:
In secret, for thy private Loss complain;
Nor cease thy Tears, while Life and Sense remain.