On the Death of Miss W

Dark was the night, and dreary was the cell, And Boreas howl'd amid the leafless trees, When pensive Thyrsis took a sad farewell Of worldly happiness and mental peace.

One trembling lamp the absent day supplied, Low on the ground Lucinda's corpse was laid, On the green moss extended by his side, And decent cover'd with a linen shade.

The mournful youth, upon his hand reclin'd, On the pale damsel cast a gloomy look; His eyes betray'd the horrors of his mind, When thus low bending o'er the corpse he spoke:

" Yield every passion! yield to mighty woe! " Let clouds of grief my mournful soul o'erspread, " My ready tears in rapid torrents flow, " The last poor tribute that awaits the dead.

" Fair as the morn, and constant as the dove, " True as the hermit to the plighted vow, " All this thou wert, sweet object of my love; " A gelid corpse; a bieathless carcas now.

" But ah! what hopes thy beauteous bosom swell'd, " Vain hopes! cut off by death's untimely blow; " The fates, alas! thy promis'd bliss with-held, " Ah! too forgetful of th' approaching foe.

" I thought to bear thee cross the watery plain, " Thy smiling brow had calm'd the roaring waves, " And love, soft power that smooths the angry main, " Had chain'd the winds in subterraneous caves.

" I thought to bear thee to my native land, " Where purer wheat the crouded granaries fills, " Where purling rivulets roll o'er golden sand, " And softly tumble from a thousand hills.

" Alas! poor wandering, melancholy ghost! " Nor joy hast thou to know, nor land to see; " But plaintive glid'st along the dreary coast, " Forgetful of the world, and love, and me.

" Is this my joy? is this the promis'd rest? " Ah no! the fates have stopp'd thy labouring breath; " Thou liest not in my fond embraces prest, " But in the cold, the icy arms of death.

" Was it for this, alas! with ardent fire " From her lov'd home, I bore the beauteous maid, " Stole the lov'd offspring from her weeping sire, " And urg'd by love o'er northern hills convey'd.

" Why did, alas! the hoary sage's voice " Pronounce us blest, or tie the sacred knot, " So soon to be dissolv'd? or why my joys " So soon commence, so soon to be forgot?

" Forgot? ah no! not till the purple blood, " Flows languid on, or fails in every vein, " 'Till with my fair I cross the Stygian flood, " So long the pleasing anguish shall remain.

" O horrid, lonely, melancholy grove! " No joys (as once) in you can Thyrsis see! " But whither would my thoughts unweeting rove, " Or why reflects my soul on aught but thee.

" But see, the sun advances in the east, " (And early songsters hail th'approach of morn) " Brisk he returns from Thetis' downy breast, " But not to me my usual joys return.

" Watch then, ye swains, the foe perhaps is near: " But why on foreign subjects do I dwell? " Take thy last look, O Thyrsis, of thy fair, " Farewell! sweet nymph! eternally farewell."

He said; his ready tears obedient flow, While o'er the pallid corse he ceaseless mourn'd, He rav'd, he groan'd, and with wild acts of woe, All sad and pensive to his cot return'd.