 | Poems |  |
74
NECESSITY.
If Love all vigilant, my lost Kathleen!(Love that around thee ever watched, unseen,)
Might from its course Death's cruel javelin turn,—
Thou hadst not now slept silent in thy shroud!
I had not wept upon thy holy urn!
But from on high proceeds the dread command,
And dire Necessity, with equal hand,
Slow as She moves, dispassionate and stern,
Alike unto the Gentle and the Proud,
Scatters the lot from her capacious urn!
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