There let me sleep, forgotten, in the clay, eyes, Rest in the hopes of an eternal day, Till the long night is gone, and the last morn arise. ON A LADY DYING OF A CONSUMPTION. View yon pale flower surcharg'd with dew, And seems, in Fancy's eye, to woo Its stem, which now can scarce sustain But thou, lost maid, whose fading frame A refuge in its darksome womb; What sun shall rise thy griefs to chear, What though thy words will not unfold The cause, that prompts thy frequent sigh, Too well, alas! those looks have told That treacherous Love has bid thee die. Oh yes, that power that gave thee breath Shall view thy woes with pitying eye; Shall bid each sorrow cease in death, And call thee to thy kindred sky. ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF ADAUGHTER. How vain the wish of long-continuing joy, Form'd on the transient pleasures of a day! How weak, that man should serious toil employ, To rest his thoughts on clouds which fleet away! As well from hence he may attempt to rise Arrest its motion through the liquid aiṛ. Scarce hath swift Time his laughing circle drawn, In manhood's course, how artfully are thrown Succeeding lures of life, from stage to stage! More firm in prospect, but, when truly known, Frail as the playthings of our infant age! Of human ties that bind us most to earth, In either period friendship takes the lead. Happy their lot, whose ever-seeking minds At home, its radiance beam from ev'ry eye! Thus my past life hath prov'd and yet may prove Save that my Harriet is no longer giv'n! Her soul of frienship and her looks of love, Fled to their source, have found a home in heay'n. Alas! reflection now alternate guides The mind, infeebled, to each different theme: As bury'd joy, or living hope presides, Till balmy slumbers give this lenient dream : Methinks I see, with sympathetic woe, Pale sorrow moving from that hallow'd tomb, In sighs as mild as Summer zephyrs blow To breathe these accents thro' the midnight gloom : Mourner, approach! yon moon will light thy way, O'er fun ral hillocks in the cypress glade; These flowing eyes shall catch her waning ray, And show the flow'ry turf where Harriet's laid! Eager I haste, with dying voice, to speak Her life ne'er caus'd a blush upon her cheek, When Faith, descending on a seraph's wing, Points out my progress to a happier shore; There the bright saint, she said, can welcome bring, And hail with rapture, "we shall part no more." ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF AN UNFORTUNATE LADY. What beck'ning ghost, along the moon-light shade |