 | Malvern Hills |  |
ELEGY
ON A BELOVED SISTER, (WHO DIED, AGED 25, 1789.)
WHEN night's cold shadows wrap the world in gloom,
And weary mortals close their eyes in sleep;
Why do I love to seek one lonely tomb,
And o'er the holy tablet bend, and weep?
And weary mortals close their eyes in sleep;
Why do I love to seek one lonely tomb,
And o'er the holy tablet bend, and weep?
There, my fond Sister lies! Death's driving storm
Untimely bore her from this nether sphere!
Though to my voice unanswering, heavenly form!
A brother, weeping, still proclaims thee dear.
Untimely bore her from this nether sphere!
Though to my voice unanswering, heavenly form!
A brother, weeping, still proclaims thee dear.
332
For she was meek and tender as the dove,
Her eye benignant, and her soul, sincere;
Her heart was form'd of sympathy and love,
And every word she spake a saint might hear.
Her eye benignant, and her soul, sincere;
Her heart was form'd of sympathy and love,
And every word she spake a saint might hear.
Her voice the sweetest music might transcend;
By nature, gentle, and by grace, refined;
She never made a foe, nor lost a friend,
And dying, left no purer heart behind.
By nature, gentle, and by grace, refined;
She never made a foe, nor lost a friend,
And dying, left no purer heart behind.
She bade me feel for those whom cares opprest,
And prize the tear which for another flows;
She form'd my opening reason, and supprest
Each worthless hope, or fear, which childhood knows.
And prize the tear which for another flows;
She form'd my opening reason, and supprest
Each worthless hope, or fear, which childhood knows.
And shall I e'er forget thee, and thy worth,
Now death hath call'd thee from a world of care?
Shall other loves, or aught in this low earth,
Tear from my heart the image deepest there?
Now death hath call'd thee from a world of care?
Shall other loves, or aught in this low earth,
Tear from my heart the image deepest there?
Sister! beloved, and loving! I will mourn
Thy early loss, as darkness veils the sky;
And, when the first faint thought of morn return,
Before my waking sense thy form shall fly.
Thy early loss, as darkness veils the sky;
And, when the first faint thought of morn return,
Before my waking sense thy form shall fly.
By fancy, oft transported, do I stand;
A glimpse of joys eternal fills my mind;
My soul, unbodied, feels her powers expand,
Leaves the low world, and casts its cares behind:
A glimpse of joys eternal fills my mind;
My soul, unbodied, feels her powers expand,
Leaves the low world, and casts its cares behind:
It is thy presence! thine, the vision bright,
That bears my view above this lower earth;
That o'er my eye-ball darts celestial light,
And tells the tale of my immortal birth!
That bears my view above this lower earth;
That o'er my eye-ball darts celestial light,
And tells the tale of my immortal birth!
333
Let the vain world its loveliest hopes deride,
And check, at fancy's call, the rising tear,
Yet will I cherish, with increasing pride,
The faith that trusts thy guardian spirit near.
And check, at fancy's call, the rising tear,
Yet will I cherish, with increasing pride,
The faith that trusts thy guardian spirit near.
For, pleasant 'tis to think, when life is fled,
And the cold grave receives some honour'd name;
The spirit, bound by no material bed,
Exults o'er death, and lives, and acts the same:
And the cold grave receives some honour'd name;
The spirit, bound by no material bed,
Exults o'er death, and lives, and acts the same:
Perhaps, e'en now, the tear that from me steals,
To thine attendant form may grief impart;
Perhaps, e'en now, thy conscious spirit feels
An answering pang to that which heaves my heart:
To thine attendant form may grief impart;
Perhaps, e'en now, thy conscious spirit feels
An answering pang to that which heaves my heart:
Nor may'st thou deem thy present bliss complete,
Till all, who once were dear, a haven find;
Nor may thy breast with pity cease to beat,
Whilst one loved friend drags heavily behind.
Till all, who once were dear, a haven find;
Nor may thy breast with pity cease to beat,
Whilst one loved friend drags heavily behind.
Sometimes, at midnight, with a solemn dread,
I wake, and, doubting, to myself I say;
Joy of my heart, Eliza! art thou dead?—
Laid in a cold, and narrow house of clay?
I wake, and, doubting, to myself I say;
Joy of my heart, Eliza! art thou dead?—
Laid in a cold, and narrow house of clay?
And must I, too, the common doom fulfil!
These limbs, in being warm, the worms embrace!
Must soon these eyes be closed! this heart be still!
And darkness be my last, long dwelling-place!
These limbs, in being warm, the worms embrace!
Must soon these eyes be closed! this heart be still!
And darkness be my last, long dwelling-place!
Distracting thought, to those who never find
A hope beyond the grave, but I survey
In Death, though arm'd with terrors to the mind,
The glorious precincts of celestial day;
A hope beyond the grave, but I survey
In Death, though arm'd with terrors to the mind,
The glorious precincts of celestial day;
334
Thee shall I meet, my Sister! thee, my friend!
Freed from the ills this mortal state annoy;
Soon shall our kindred hearts together blend,
And, what we here have suffered, swell our joy.
Freed from the ills this mortal state annoy;
Soon shall our kindred hearts together blend,
And, what we here have suffered, swell our joy.
Short was thy life, and stormy! — rough the road
Through which thou passedst to a world of rest!
Affliction, with thee, form'd a long abode,
And many a sorrow prey'd upon thy breast!
Through which thou passedst to a world of rest!
Affliction, with thee, form'd a long abode,
And many a sorrow prey'd upon thy breast!
But thou art now delivered! thou hast sung
The song of triumph in a nobler sphere!
Up, where the trembling stars of night are hung,
Thy soul has usher'd in the eternal year.
The song of triumph in a nobler sphere!
Up, where the trembling stars of night are hung,
Thy soul has usher'd in the eternal year.
Oh may my lot be with thee! may I tread
The spotless path through life which thou hast trod!
And when, in death, I rest my weary head,
Oh may I find my last, best friend, in God!
The spotless path through life which thou hast trod!
And when, in death, I rest my weary head,
Oh may I find my last, best friend, in God!
Do I one blessing crave? thou Power divine!
And for mine own poor self that boon require?—
May all that lives, and moves, and is, be Thine,
And thou be all in all — Eternal Sire!
And for mine own poor self that boon require?—
May all that lives, and moves, and is, be Thine,
And thou be all in all — Eternal Sire!
| Malvern Hills | |