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62
SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ONE ON WHOM THE DEATH OF AN EXCELLENT WOMAN HAS FORCED THE CONVICTION OF A FUTURE STATE.
O'erladen with sad musings, till the tearSprang to the pressure, I survey'd thy tomb,
All drest in flowers, as though above thy bier,
Thy breath, yet hovering, fed the gentle bloom;
I said, “Maria, though I deem'd too long
That souls would fade like music on the air,
Hast thou not brought me confirmation strong
That they shall yet be beautiful elsewhere?
For thine was so immaculate and rare,
That but the thought of thy deep purity,
Link'd with that other thought, I could not bear;
Mount then! bright soul! and take thy place on high;
I do confess thou wert so good and fair
That such as thou were never born to die!
63
Continued
The bliss of Heaven, Maria, shall be thine!Joy link'd to joy by amaranthine bond!
And a fair harp of many strings divine
Shall meet thy touch with unimagin'd sound!
Meek angel-hood shall dwell within thine eye,
Fed by the action of thy purer soul;
Thy brow shall beam with fairer dignity—
No more thy cheek shall blench with Care's control,
Nor yield its hues to changes of the heart,
That beats with plenitude of life and woe—
Taking all dyes that sorrow can impart,
Or ever-shifting circumstance bestow:
The prey of present pangs or after-smart,
For ever feeling pain or missing bliss below.
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