Tyrant of all our loves and friendships here,
Behold thy beauteous victim! - Ah! tis thine
To rend fond hearts, and start the tend'rest tear
Where joy should long in cloudless radiance shine.
Alas! the mourning Muse in vain would paint,
Blest shade! how purely pass'd thy life away,
Or, with the meekness of a favour'd saint,
How rose thy spirit to the realms of day.
'Twas thine to fill each part that gladdens life,
Such as approving angels smile upon; -
The faultless daughter, parent, friend, and wife, -
Virtues short-lived! they set just as they shone.
Thus, in the bosom of some winding grove,
Where oft the pensive melodist retires,
From his sweet instrument, the note of love,
Charms the rapt ear, but, as it charms, expires.
Farewell, pure spirit! o'er thine early grave
Oblivion ne'er shall spread her freezing shade;
Nature shall bid her richest foliage wave
Where her reposing fav'rite child is laid.
There widow'd fondness oft, when summers bloom.
Shall with thy infant pledge of love repair;
Oft shall they kneel beside thy mossy tomb,
And tears shall dew the flow'rs that blossom there.