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On the Death of Parthenia.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

On the Death of Parthenia.

[Parthenia, list'ning to her Lover's moan]

Parthenia , list'ning to her Lover's moan,
Could slight no pain, no anguish, but her own:
How early was the call! How rude the blow!
How soft the bosom! yet how calm the brow!
As in the Still dissolving Roses sweat,
Consum'd in silence by the glowing heat;
So noiseless she her gentle Soul resign'd,
And left a Name of sweeter scent behind.
No longer then that gallant Spirit mourn,
From the poor, lovely, tender Body torn:
Heav'n match'd her patience, and her face, to prove
How Martyrs suffer here, and shine above.