happiness. I must then be guilty, since I am unhappy. I will forsake these ways of perverseness. Turn thine eyes, O GOD! from my past offences! Preserve me from committing new ones! Take pity on me, O my GOD! or-reduce me to nothing.

Stothard del

Such was the dream of Cain

Book IV

th

London, Publish'd Jan 28, 1797 by THeptinstall Flect Street.

Blackbert &

THE

DEATH OF ABEL.

BOOK IV.

THE air was yet moist with the dew of night; the birds still slept in silence; the sun had not begun to gild the tops of the hills, or the hovering fogs of the morning; yet CAIN, distress'd and melancholy, had left his cottage. MAHALA, unknowing she was over-heard, had wept, and pray'd for him during the tedious night. The black traces of despair were too visible in his countenance to escape the observations of his affectionate wife. She rais'd to heaven her supplicating hands. She begged for him mercy and forgiveness. She entreated that the DIVINE Consolations and grace might soothe and soften the heart of her wretched husband. Her lively grief, her intense devotion, as she fear'd disturbing the partner of her bed, were utter'd only in sighs and tears: yet the inarticulate expressions of her sorrow had reach'd the ears of CAIN, who, unable to bear her grief, wander'd in the early dawn. His murmuring voice resounded through the profound calm of the fields like distant

thunder.-Night odious! night horrible! said he. What black clouds surround me! what fears! what terrors! When my imagination began to be calm'd, when gentle sleep had hush'd my griefs, the voice of lamentation awoke me. Alas! I only wake to be replung'd in wretchedness. Shall I never more enjoy repose? Why did she pray and weep for me? She yet knows not that my offering was rejected. Her tears encrease my distress.-I cannot bear her groans they add to my griefs-they chace peace from my heart. This day, like the last, must be pass'd in sorrow and bitterness. While a smile of approbation rewards every action of my brother, while he enjoys every soothing delight, terror and sadness pursue me. I love thee, MAHALA-I love thee tenderly. Thou art dearer to me than myself. Why then shouldst thou, by thy lamentations, fill with anguish the few hours of rest my miseries have left me?

He stopp'd under a bush that grew on the side of a rock :-O soft sleep, said he, restore me here thy balmy blessings. Unhappy that I am, weaken'd by fatigue and terror, I invok'd thee in my cottage; scarce hadst thou spread over thy downy pinions, when the voice of sorrow chac'd thee from mine eyes, Here is none to trouble my repose, except beings inanimate, influenc'd by the wrath of heaven, can drive quiet from me, even in this distant retreat. O earth, which, by a curse. too severe, requires such painful labour-alas! I only labour to prolong a life of wretchedness—now, at