She clasp'd her hands-she rais'd her eyes, No hope remain'd-no help was near! Down-down she plung'd-The dashing wave TO A FRIEND. HER image, who enslaves my mind, The Bard can ill express the Lover. Yet trust me he whose happier skill, For terms could ransack earth, air, ocean; Might shew, perhaps, more wit at will, But less of genuine emotion. Though Art the florid phrase deny, Yet Truth can never want expression, For that best language of the eye, Is still in her's, and Love's possession. T. P. ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, OXON. STANZAS, ON THE DEATH OF MISS H. E. HAY *. BY ADELINE. HAIL, awful dwelling of the silent dead! To Him that haunts this proud sepulchral dome, * Daughter of the Rev. George Hay Drummond. + The Chapel of Holyrood-house, now a pile of ruins, O'er yon Oh! powers of Memory! it is your's alone, In vivid tints like Heaven's etherial bow, While Death's dim clouds in Faith's refulgent glow, Yet shrinking Nature, o'er yon sacred urn, When hopeless woe corrodes the aching breast, Oh! hear ye winds that sweep the vaulted sky, For there a Father guards his slumb'ring child. What tho' the storms that chill the changing year, Shall gem the wild weeds as they spring around. No blushing bands yon mould'ring arch entwine, Stranger approach, if e'er thy bosom knew Approach, for thou art hallowed by woe, Oh come, and gaze upon yon holy tomb; O'er the green turf that wraps the blissed clay, EDINBURGH, DEC. 4, 1802. TO ADELINE. On receiving from her the foregoing Elegy, on the Decease of a beloved Daughter. АH! little thought the subject of thy song, Sublime, yet plaintive, and though tender, strong; When the sweet warblings of thy fairy lay*, The pain of sickly languor charm'd away; That to herself so soon it should be given, To join the holy "minstrelsy of Heaven." Thy friendly Muse should chaunt the funeral verse, And scatter flow'rets o'er her virgin hearse. Her Spirit thanks thee-for methinks I hear Angelic sounds thus vibrate on mine ear.— "Blest be the maid, who to a sister's urn, "For incense brings the vivid "words that burn;" "What though her heart, by sympathetic glow, "May feel a pang the selfish never know; "Yet e'en from Sorrow can her polish'd mind, "A pensive pleasure draw by love refin'd; "And when delightful themes her thoughts employ, "Pure is the transport, exquisite the joy. "O henceforth may she muse on such alone, "Partake of other's bliss, and double all her own." G. H. D. *To Oberon, &c.-which had been perused with great delight, especially these two lines; "To hear the minstrelsy of heaven "Float on the breezes of the even.' "9 It will be seen that this expression here borrowed, refers to a much higher order of beings. |