 | Poems (1806) |  |
169
IN MEMORY OF THE LATE Mrs. DOBSON, OF EXETER.
If meekness, by affection rais'd, inspireThe bloom of beauty with a softer fire;
If quick sincerity the emotion dart,
That on the lustrous brow displays the heart;
Entranc'd the magic harmony we see—
Ah! Dobson, such as beam'd divine in thee!
And was it his, who knew to prize them most,
To mourn those dear attractions early lost;
Trembling, observe intelligence less warm,
Though sweetly-mild, illume thy faded form;
Survey thy meekness languishing in death,
And catch sincerity's fast-faultering breath?
Yet though he wore each look that anguish wears,
And bath'd thy pillow with unceasing tears;
Though he was doom'd to see thy blushes fly,
View thy pale lip, and mark thy clouded eye;
Hail with fond passion its reviving rays,
And on the last quick sparkle wildly gaze;
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The conscious smile, that spoke thy placid thought.
Yet could he see, where death's cold languor stole,
The cherub Faith, that plum'd thy soaring soul;
Yet, sooth'd by visions, Faith can only give,
See, as the Wife expir'd, the Christian live!
P.
| Poems (1806) | |