Date: Performed Dec 1756, published 1757

"This fatal day stirs my time-settled sorrow, / Troubles afresh the fountain of my heart."

— Home, John (1722-1808)

Date: Performed Dec 1756, published 1757

"These black weeds / Express the wonted colour of thy mind, / For ever dark and dismal."

— Home, John (1722-1808)

Date: Performed Dec 1756, published 1757

"Clouds, all the while have hung upon thy brow, / Nor broke, nor parted by one gleam of joy."

— Home, John (1722-1808)

Date: Performed Dec 1756, published 1757

"Time, that wears out the trace of deepest anguish, / As the sea smooths the prints made in the sand, / Has past o'er thee in vain."

— Home, John (1722-1808)

Date: Performed Dec 1756, published 1757

"Would thou wert not / Compos'd of grief and tenderness alone, / But had'st a spark of other passions in thee, / Pride, anger, vanity, the strong desire / Of admiration, dear to woman kind;/ These might contend with, and allay thy grief, / As meeting tides and currents smooth our firth."

— Home, John (1722-1808)

Date: Performed Dec 1756, published 1757

"Then my bosom's flame / Oft, as blown back by the rude breath of fear, / Return'd, and with redoubled ardour blaz'd."

— Home, John (1722-1808)

Date: Performed Dec 1756, published 1757

"Whilst thus I mus'd, a spark from fancy fell / On my sad heart, and kindled up a fondness / For this young stranger, wand'ring from his home, / And like an orphan cast upon my care."

— Home, John (1722-1808)

Date: Performed Dec 1756, published 1757

"Have you not sometimes seen an early flower / Open its bud, and spread its silken leaves, / To catch sweet airs, and odours to bestow; / Then, by the keen blast nipt, pull in its leaves, / And, tho' still living, die to scent and beauty! / Emblem of me: affliction, like a storm, / Hath kill'd th...

— Home, John (1722-1808)

Date: Performed Dec 1756, published 1757

"Thou look'st at me, as if thou fain would'st pry / Into my heart. 'Tis open as my speech."

— Home, John (1722-1808)

Date: Performed Dec 1756, published 1757

"The darts of destiny have almost pierc'd / My marble heart."

— Home, John (1722-1808)