 | Poems, dramatic and miscellaneous |  |
200
On the Death of Mrs. S. ---, who died within a few Days after her Marriage.
The grave with open mouth destroys,
Life's choicest blessings, purest joys.
Life's choicest blessings, purest joys.
The gay Orinda's pleasing charms,
Allur'd young Selim to her arms;
They tasted bliss one happy moon,
Nor thought their joys could end so soon,
Or dreamt that such a guest as Death
Would interrupt the bridal mirth;
But lo! his sable wings are spread,
Orinda's number'd with the dead.
Allur'd young Selim to her arms;
They tasted bliss one happy moon,
Nor thought their joys could end so soon,
Or dreamt that such a guest as Death
Would interrupt the bridal mirth;
But lo! his sable wings are spread,
Orinda's number'd with the dead.
Thus have I seen the opening flower
That decorates the nuptial bow'r,
Its odours shed, its bright array
Rival the lustre of the day;
But ere the glorious morning sun
Had reach'd the central point of noon,
The violets fade, the roses die,
So sunk the lustre of her eye.
The valiant Selim quits the prize,
Reluctant yields the sacrifice;
Trys in the laurell'd field of fame,
To lose the lov'd Orinda's name;
But, not the warlike, hostile scene,
That purples o'er the native green,
Nor the hoarse trumpet, loud and shrill,
The plaintive voice of grief could quell.
Selim still feels the keener smart
That rankles in his bleeding heart;
He rushes on amid the plain,
And courts the sword to end his pain:
He fell—but smil'd in Death's embrace,
And cry'd, here ends the idle chace;
Wealth, pleasure, honour, airy fame,
I've prov'd are but an empty name:
He kiss'd the reeking steel, and said,
I fly to seek Orinda's shade.
That decorates the nuptial bow'r,
Its odours shed, its bright array
Rival the lustre of the day;
But ere the glorious morning sun
Had reach'd the central point of noon,
The violets fade, the roses die,
So sunk the lustre of her eye.
The valiant Selim quits the prize,
Reluctant yields the sacrifice;
Trys in the laurell'd field of fame,
To lose the lov'd Orinda's name;
But, not the warlike, hostile scene,
That purples o'er the native green,
Nor the hoarse trumpet, loud and shrill,
The plaintive voice of grief could quell.
Selim still feels the keener smart
That rankles in his bleeding heart;
201
And courts the sword to end his pain:
He fell—but smil'd in Death's embrace,
And cry'd, here ends the idle chace;
Wealth, pleasure, honour, airy fame,
I've prov'd are but an empty name:
He kiss'd the reeking steel, and said,
I fly to seek Orinda's shade.
| Poems, dramatic and miscellaneous | |