My son! – alas, some savage monster's prey!
Why have I liv'd to this detested day?
Why have I lingred thus? I should have dy'd,
When thy more happy mother left my side,
My best-lov'd wife: – but all my  face
I could in thy resembling features trace.
Tormenting thought! – O hide me from the light!
Its useless rays afflict my feeble sight:
Come lead me to the solitary grave,
Despair and woe that dark retirement crave;
There shall I, stretch'd upon my dusty bed,
Forget the toils of life, and mingle with the dead.