The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
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ELEGY.
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
302
ELEGY.
ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.
Thou dearest object of my soul on earth,
Thou kind, young sharer of my joys and woe;
Forgive, while here I pour my sorrows forth,
E'er life's last current from its fountain flow.
Thou kind, young sharer of my joys and woe;
Forgive, while here I pour my sorrows forth,
E'er life's last current from its fountain flow.
The hour arrives with heaven's supreme behest,
Advancing death in awful pomp I see;
Disease slow writhes within my troubled breast,
And past are all the joys of life with me.
Advancing death in awful pomp I see;
Disease slow writhes within my troubled breast,
And past are all the joys of life with me.
Farewell, ye pleasing scenes of fond delight,
Farewell ye hopes that promised once so well;
Ye charms that shot through my enraptur'd sight,
Ye days of peace, ye nights of joy, farewell.
Farewell ye hopes that promised once so well;
Ye charms that shot through my enraptur'd sight,
Ye days of peace, ye nights of joy, farewell.
No more with thee the drousy town I'll leave,
To tread the dews, and breathe the sweets of morn;
Nor fondly wish the dear return of eve,
To meet thee blushing near the lonely thorn.
To tread the dews, and breathe the sweets of morn;
Nor fondly wish the dear return of eve,
To meet thee blushing near the lonely thorn.
The eyes that gaz'd unwearied on thy charms,
The heart that wont at sight of thee to leap;
A few sad hours will finish its alarms,
And seal their orbs in everlasting sleep.
The heart that wont at sight of thee to leap;
A few sad hours will finish its alarms,
And seal their orbs in everlasting sleep.
When this weak pulse hath number'd out its date,
When all my hopes and all my fears are o'er;
When each young friend shall pensive tell my fate,
And death's black train stand mournful at my door.
When all my hopes and all my fears are o'er;
When each young friend shall pensive tell my fate,
And death's black train stand mournful at my door.
Then, oh! Lavinia, while thou dost survey
The pale chang'd features once to thee well known;
The limbs that flew thy dictates to obey,
The arms that oft enclasp'd thee as their own.
The pale chang'd features once to thee well known;
The limbs that flew thy dictates to obey,
The arms that oft enclasp'd thee as their own.
303
Check not the tear that trembles in thine eye,
Nor stop the sigh that struggles from thy heart;
These are the rites for which I'd rather die,
Than all the pomp of marble and of art.
Nor stop the sigh that struggles from thy heart;
These are the rites for which I'd rather die,
Than all the pomp of marble and of art.
Lavinia, oh! thou dear, thou precious name!
That opes each wound, and tears my trembling heart;
Wilt thou vouchsafe one poor request I claim,
To breathe one wish, one prayer e'er we part?
That opes each wound, and tears my trembling heart;
Wilt thou vouchsafe one poor request I claim,
To breathe one wish, one prayer e'er we part?
O round thy head may heaven its blessings strew!
May angels waft each comfort to thy cell;
Pure be thy peace—thy tears, thy troubles few,
Thou kindest maid, thou dearest friend, farewell.
May angels waft each comfort to thy cell;
Pure be thy peace—thy tears, thy troubles few,
Thou kindest maid, thou dearest friend, farewell.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |