Of fickness watch thee, and thy languid head Nor did the crown your mutual flame With pledges dear, and with a father's tender name. XVI. O belt of wives! O dearer far to me Were yielded to my arms, How can my foul endure the lofs of thee? How in the world, to me a defart Abandon'd, and alone, grown, Without my fweet companion can I live? The dear reward of every virtuous toil, What pleafures now can pall'd Ambition give? Ev'n the delightful fenfe of well-earn'd praife, Unfhar'd by thee, no more my lifelefs thoughts could raise. XVII. For my diftracted mind What fuccour can I find? On whom for confolation fhall I call? Your kind affiftance lend To bear the weight of this oppreffive woe. My dear departed love, fo much was thine, In every other grief, Are now with your idea fadden'd all : My tortur'd mem'ry wounds, and fpeaks of Luy dead. XVIII. We were the happiest pair of human kind! Harmonious Concord did our wishes bind; That all this pleasing fabric Love had rais'd On which ev'n wanton Vice with envy gaz'd, Yet O my foul, thy rifing murmurs ftay, With impious grief complain. That all thy full-blown joys at once should fade Was his moft righteous will, and be that will obey'd. XIX. Would thý fond love his grace to her controul, Her pure, exalted foul Ev'n love itfelf if rifing by degrees Beyond the bounds of this imperfect state, Whofe fleeting joys fo foon mult end, It does not too its fov'reign Good afcend. Rife then, my foul, with hope elate, And feek thofe regions of ferene delight, Whofe peaceful path and ever open gate Nor feet but those of harden'd guilt shall mifs. There death himself thy Lucy fhall restore, There yield up all his pow'r ne'er to divide us more. VERSE S Making PART of an EPITAPH on the fame L AD Y. MA By the Same. ADE to engage all hearts, and charm all eyes; Tho' meek, magnanimous, tho' witty, wife; Polite, as all her life in courts had been ; Yet good, as fhe the world had never seen ; The noble fire of an exalted mind, With gentle female tenderness combin'd. Her Speech was the melodious voice of Love, Her Song the warbling of the vernal Grove; Her Eloquence was fweeter than her Song, Soft as her Heart, and as her Reason strong; Her Form each beauty of her mind exprefs'd, Her Mind was Virtue by the Graces dress'd. OUD howls the ftorm! the vex'd Atlantic roars! LOUD Hears cries of horror wafted from afar, And groans of Anguish, mid the fhrieks of War! *Victor garland.-Alluding to the conqueft by Lord Cornwallis. |