AN
AUNT'S
LAMENTATION
FOR
THE
ABSENCE
OF
HER
NIECE
.
WRITTEN
FROM
HASTINGS
.
Like
as
the
dove
I
sit
alone
,
Dejected
,
pale
,
and
wan
,
Without
a
friend
to
hear
me
moan
The
loss
of
Marianne
.
Now
on
the
raging
deep
I
gaze
,
And
all
it's
wonders
scan
,
Yet
still
my
thoughts
revert
always
To
thee
,
my
Marianne
.
Now
o'er
my
book
,
my
work
I
pore
,
But
do
whate'er
I
can
,
My
book
,
my
work
will
charm
no
more
,
I've
lost
my
Marianne
.
The
other
morn
the
fifers
play'd
,
I
to
the
window
ran
,
And
as
the
music
pass'd
,
I
said
,
Where
,
where
is
Marianne
?
Oft
as
I
hear
the
sailors
bawl
For
Susan
or
for
Nan
,
Alas
,
I
cry
,
Oh
that
a
call
Would
bring
me
Marianne
!
Now
on
the
beach
forlorn
I
stray
,
Nor
know
the
face
of
man
,
Yet
all
would
please
,
each
scene
be
gay
,
Had
I
my
Marianne
.
With
her
each
hour
I
could
employ
,
And
still
new
pleasures
plan
,
For
ev'ry
hour
'twould
be
my
joy
To
please
my
Marianne
.
Ah
could
I
view
her
face
I'd
fly
From
Beersheba
to
Dan
,
No
land
,
no
sea
beneath
the
sky
Should
part
my
Marianne
.