EPILOGUE. WRITTEN BY THE HON. WILLIAM LAMB. Spoken by Mrs. JORDAN. ERE yet Suspense has still'd its throbbing fear, A monarch's danger, and a nation's fate, To mar the work the tragic scene has wrought, To rouse the mind that broods in pensive thought, To scare Reflection, which, in absent dreams, Still lingers musing on the recent themes; Attention, ere with contemplation tired, To turn from all that pleased, from all that fired ; To weaken lessons strongly now imprest, O ye, who listen to the plaintive strain, Do Cora's fears, which beat without control, Ah, no! your minds with kindred zeal approve You must approve: where man exists below, That voice poor Cora heard, and closely prest Her darling infant to her fearful breast; Distracted dared the bloody field to tread, And sought Alonzo through the heaps of dead, Eager to catch the music of his breath, Though faltering in the agonies of death, To touch his lips, though pale and cold, once more, Gave to the hopeless parent's arms her child, To all that Praise repeats through lengthen'd years, |