Whilemoving round his post, he saw at night
          Shine, cross the tomb, a strange, unusual light,
          Which thither drew him, curious to unfold
          What, through the chinks, his eyesight could behold.

          Ourwight soon heard the lady’s cries distressed,
          On which he entered, and with ardour pressed,
          The cause of such excessive grief to know,
          And if ’twas in his pow’r to ease her woe.

          Dissolvedin tears, and quite o’ercome with care;
          She scarcely noticed that a man was there. 
          The corpse, howe’er, too plainly told her pain,
          And fully seemed the myst’ry to explain. 
          We’ve sworn, exclaimed the slave, what’s ’yond belief,
          That here we’ll die of famine and of grief.

          Thougheloquence was not the soldier’s art,
          He both convinced ’twas wrong with life to part: 
          The dame was great attention led to pay,
          To what the son of Mars inclined to say,
          Which seemed to soften her severe distress: 
          With time each poignant smart is rendered less.

          If, said the soldier, you have made a vow,
          That you, some food to take will not allow;
          Yet, looking on while I my supper eat,
          Will not prolong your lives, nor oaths defeat.

          Hisopen manner much was formed to please;
          The lady and her maid grew more at ease,
          Which made the gen’rous sentinel conclude,
          To bring his meat they would not fancy rude.

          Thisdone, the slave no longer was inclined
          To follow Death, as soon she changed her mind. 
          Said she, good madam, pleasing thoughts I’ve got;
          Don’t you believe that, if you live or not,
          ’Tis to your husband ev’ry whit the same? 
          Had you gone first, would he have had the name
          Of following to the grave as you design? 
          No, no, he’d to another course incline. 
          Long years of comfort we may clearly crave;
          At twenty years it’s surely wrong to brave
          Both death and famine in a gloomy tomb
          There’s time enough to think of such a doom. 
          At best, too soon we die; do let us wait;
          Here’s nothing now at least to haste our fate. 
          In truth, I wish to see a good old age: 
          To bury charms like your’s, would that be sage? 
          Of what advantage, I should wish to know,
          To carry beauty to the shades below? 
          Those heavenly features make my bosom sigh,
          To think from earthly praise they mean to fly.