human
And here, my child, (she cried, with panting breath) Here let us wait the hour of ling'ring death:
gpt
This famish'd bosom can no more supply The streams that nourish life, my babe must die! 70
human
In vain I strive to cherish for thy sake My failing strength; but when my heart-strings break,
gpt
When my chill'd bosom can no longer warm, My stiff'ning arms no more enfold thy form,
human
Soft on this bed of leaves my child shall sleep, 75 Close to his mother's corse he will not weep:
gpt
Oh weep not then, my tender babe, tho' near, I shall not hear thy moan, nor see thy tear;
human
Hope not to move me by thy piercing cry, Nor seek with searching look my answering eye.
gpt
we yet must part!
human
Short are these rising joys--I feel my heart My suff'ring heart is cold, and mists arise
gpt
That shroud thy image from my closing eyes: Oh save my child!--our tender infant save, 105
human
And shed a tear upon thy Cora's grave