To E---[1]

Let Folly smile, to view the names Of thee and me, in Friendship twin'd; Yet Virtue will have greater claims To love, than rank with vice combin'd.

And though unequal is thy fate, Since title deck'd my higher birth; Yet envy not this gaudy state, Thine is the pride of modest worth.

Our souls at least congenial meet, Nor can thy lot my rank disgrace; Our intercourse is not less sweet, Since worth of rank supplies the place.

November, 1802.

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY, COUSIN TO THE AUTHOR, AND VERY DEAR TO HIM.

1.

Hush'd are the winds, and still the evening gloom, Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove, Whilst I return to view my Margaret's tomb, And scatter flowers on the dust I love.

2.

Within this narrow cell reclines her clay, That clay, where once such animation beam'd; The King of Terrors seiz'd her as his prey; Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem'd.

3.

Oh! could that King of Terrors pity feel, Or Heaven reverse the dread decree of fate, Not here the mourner would his grief reveal, Not here the Muse her virtues would relate.

4.

But wherefore weep? Her matchless spirit soars Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day; And weeping angels lead her to those bowers, Where endless pleasures virtuous deeds repay.

5.

And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign! And, madly, Godlike Providence accuse! Ah! no, far fly from me attempts so vain;-- I'll ne'er submission to my God refuse.

6.

Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear, Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face; Still they call forth my warm affection's tear, Still in my heart retain their wonted place. [i]

1802.