 | Dartmoor, and other poems |  |
79
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY.
Sweet Maid! who late didst charm our sight
And round thy path a lustre shed;
We see thee still in vision bright,
Till memory whispers, thou art dead!
And round thy path a lustre shed;
We see thee still in vision bright,
Till memory whispers, thou art dead!
Veil'd is the future! dim, and dark!
When in our confidence and pride
We seem about to steer our bark
O'er pleasure's gay and glittering tide:
When in our confidence and pride
We seem about to steer our bark
O'er pleasure's gay and glittering tide:
Death launches from his ebon throne
The shaft, with terrors charged, supreme;
Which hurries us to worlds unknown,
And sends us down oblivion's stream!
The shaft, with terrors charged, supreme;
Which hurries us to worlds unknown,
And sends us down oblivion's stream!
80
But yesterday, and thou didst stand,
(With nought thy ample gaze to bound,)
Foremost in youth and beauty's band,
Admired, beloved, by all around;
(With nought thy ample gaze to bound,)
Foremost in youth and beauty's band,
Admired, beloved, by all around;
Now thou hast past life's rugged road,
The clod sustains thy peaceful head;
With vault and worm is thine abode,
And “clay-cold” is thy lowly bed.
The clod sustains thy peaceful head;
With vault and worm is thine abode,
And “clay-cold” is thy lowly bed.
Ye, who your loveliest friend deplore,
And heave affection's fervent sigh;
Think, ere a fleeting hour be o'er,
That you, like her, in dust may lie.
And heave affection's fervent sigh;
Think, ere a fleeting hour be o'er,
That you, like her, in dust may lie.
Your moments pass like sands away,
Provide for Heaven before too late;
Nor leave to an uncertain day,
The interests of an endless state.
Provide for Heaven before too late;
Nor leave to an uncertain day,
The interests of an endless state.
They who can call their God their friend,
May look toward death without dismay;
And only they can meet their end
Calm as the summer's closing day.
May look toward death without dismay;
81
Calm as the summer's closing day.
Sweet Maid! thy worth shall long remain
The theme of many a friend sincere;
Whilst he who pens the mournful strain,
With their's shall blend the pitying tear.
The theme of many a friend sincere;
Whilst he who pens the mournful strain,
With their's shall blend the pitying tear.
| Dartmoor, and other poems | |