2.

  Within this narrow cell reclines her clay,
    That clay where once such animation beam’d;
  The king of terrors seiz’d her as his prey,
    Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem’d.

3.

  Oh! could that king of terrors pity feel,
    Or Heaven reverse the dread decree of fate,
  Not here the mourner would his grief reveal,
    Not here the muse her virtues would relate.

4.

  But wherefore weep! her matchless spirit soars,
    Beyond where aplendid shines the orb of day. 
  And weeping angels lead her to those bowers,
    Where endless pleasures virtuous deeds repay.

5.

  And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign! 
    And madly God-like Providence accuse! 
  Ah! no far fly from me attempts so vain,
    I’ll ne’er submission to my God refuse.

6.

  Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear,
    Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face;
  Still they call forth my warm affection’s tear. 
    Such sorrow brings me honour, not disgrace.[4]

1802.

[Footnote 4:  The Author claims the indulgence of the reader, more for this piece, than, perhaps, any other in the collection; but as it was written at an earlier period than the rest, (being composed at the age of 14) and his first Essay, be preferred submitting it to the indulgence of his friends in its present state, to making either addition or alteration.]

* * * * *

TO D. ——­

  In thee, I fondly hop’d to clasp,
    A friend whom death alone could sever,
  But envy with malignant grasp,
    Has torn thee from my breast for ever.

2.

  True, she has forc’d thee from my breast,
    But in my heart thou keep’st thy seat;
  There, there, thine image still must rest,
    Until that heart shall cease to beat.

3.

  And when the grave restores her dead,
    When life again to dust is given,
  On thy dear breast I’ll lay my head,
    Without thee! where would be my Heaven?

February, 1803.

* * * * *

TO ——­

  Think’st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes,
    Suffus’d in tears implore to stay;
  And heard unmov’d, thy plenteous sighs,
    Which said far more than words could say.

  Though deep the grief, thy tears exprest,
    When love, and hope, lay both o’erthrown,
  Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast,
    Throbb’d with deep sorrow, as thine own.

  But when our cheeks with anguish glow’d,
    When thy sweet lips where join’d to mine;
  The tears that from my eye-lids flow’d,
    Were lost in those which fell from thine.

  Thou could’st not feel my burning cheek,
    Thy gushing tears had quench’d its flame,
  And as thy tongue essay’d to speak,
    In sighs alone it breath’d my name.