Oh, when shall I arise, and Night be gone! 

 Despondence seized him. To the lowliest place 

 Alone he stole, and sadly took his seat 

 In dust and ashes. 

 She, his bosom friend 

 The sharer of his lot for many years, 

 Sought out his dark retreat. Shuddering she saw 

 His kingly form like living sepulchre, 

 And in the maddening haste of sorrow said 

 God hath forgotten. 

 She with him had borne 

 Unuttered woe o'er the untimely graves 

 Of all whom she had nourished,—shared with him 

 The silence of a home that hath no child, 

 The plunge from wealth to want, the base contempt 

 Of menial and of ingrate;—but to see 

 The dearest object of adoring love 

 Her next to God, a prey to vile disease 

 Hideous and loathsome, all the beauty marred 

 That she had worshipped from her ardent youth 

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