With generous passions swell'd his noble breast;
Passions too strong and deep to be express'd;
Pity and rage with equal strivings beat,
And sympathy, wrought high by nat'ral heat:
"By my true soul!" at length he cried,
"As Nature's my director and my guide,
" My heart, chain'd by thy woe,
"Shall neither joy nor comfort know,
" Till I've reveng'd thy wrongs, and giv'n thee ease,
"And, by my love, have set thy troubled soul at peace.
" O! let not misery o'erwhelm thy heart,
"Nor the fair path of life and joy decline;
" Vengeance shall find the authors of thy smart -
"O! fearless rest thy drooping soul on mine,
" Which, like the oak, round which the ivy strays,
"With blessings yet may store thy future days."