For he not yet had felt the pain
That rankles in a wounded breast;
He waked to sin, then slept again,
Forsook his God, yet took his rest.

But I was forced to feign delight,
And joy in mirth and music sought, —
And mem’ry now recalls the night,
With such surprise and horror fraught,
That reason felt a moment’s flight,
And left a mind to madness wrought.

When waking, on my heaving breast
I felt a hand as cold as death: 
A sudden fear my voice suppress’d,
A chilling terror stopp’d my breath.

I seem’d—­no words can utter how! 
For there my father-husband stood,
And thus he said:  —­“Will God allow,
The great Avenger just and Good,
A wife to break her marriage vow? 
A son to shed his father’s blood?”

I trembled at the dismal sounds,
But vainly strove a word to say;
So, pointing to his bleeding wounds,
The threat’ning spectre stalk’d away.

I brought a lovely daughter forth,
His father’s child, in Aaron’s bed;
He took her from me in his wrath,
“Where is my child?”—­“Thy child is dead.”

’Twas false—­we wander’d far and wide,
Through town and country, field and fen,
Till Aaron, fighting, fell and died,
And I became a wife again.

I then was young:  —­my husband sold
My fancied charms for wicked price;
He gave me oft for sinful gold,
The slave, but not the friend of vice:  —
Behold me, Heaven! my pains behold,
And let them for my sins suffice.

The wretch who lent me thus for gain,
Despised me when my youth was fled;
Then came disease, and brought me pain:  —
Come, Death, and bear me to the dead! 
For though I grieve, my grief is vain,
And fruitless all the tears I shed.

True, I was not to virtue train’d,
Yet well I knew my deeds were ill;
By each offence my heart was pain’d
I wept, but I offended still;
My better thoughts my life disdain’d,
But yet the viler led my will.

My husband died, and now no more
My smile was sought, or ask’d my hand,
A widow’d vagrant, vile and poor,
Beneath a vagrant’s vile command.

Ceaseless I roved the country round,
To win my bread by fraudful arts,
And long a poor subsistence found,
By spreading nets for simple hearts.

Though poor, and abject, and despised,
Their fortunes to the crowd I told;
I gave the young the love they prized,
And promised wealth to bless the old. 
Schemes for the doubtful I devised,
And charms for the forsaken sold.

At length for arts like these confined
In prison with a lawless crew,
I soon perceived a kindred mind,
And there my long-lost daughter knew;

His father’s child, whom Aaron gave
To wander with a distant clan,
The miseries of the world to brave,
And be the slave of vice and man.

She knew my name—­we met in pain;
Our parting pangs can I express? 
She sail’d a convict o’er the main,
And left an heir to her distress.