The night, wrapped deep with splashing labour, groaned In dismal concert to the shriek and yell Of struggling mortals, who, in sinking, moaned To those they loved the long and wild farewell, Whose deep-toned peals rung as a funeral knell; But louder far those female screams and cries Which rose amid the waves' devouring swell; And dread the howlings and departing sighs Which marked that hour of death and agonies. But soon, ah soon, and all was past and gone! With bold, majestic, and hoarse swelling roar With lovers fond, whom Fate asunder tore, As youth and beauty failed that night to save, And talent, worth, and wisdom found a grave. ON THE DEATH OF A LADY. THOU glorious mirror of the Deity! Hail! Virtue, hail! however here attired; The cot, the palace, are alike to thee, Diffusive as the light, and ever free. Who are save self-excluded from thy pale? Source of all good, supreme to be desired, As dust with thee a world is, in the scale; Native of realms where angels had their birth, Uniting God with man, and heaven with earth. Oh truth sublime! despite that blight we know, The heads of those whose memories shall shine But ah! how brief on earth the best career! Who Nature's debt in turn alike must pay; What desolation ever and anon! The worthy and the excellent is gone, Though rich in all that affluence could ensure, Her own, their cause by nameless deeds she showed, And proved of friendless poverty the friend. As such, devoted, amiably she stood, And passed a life in daily doing good. Her heart was open as her gates to all, The widow, fatherless, and orphan train, Were sure her deep compassion to engage; There in her pity refuge from the storm. Nor was that charity to home confined, And slumbered save when suffering pleaded there; The local poor seemed round her heart entwined. It others sought to bless with secret aid; How many here her bounty warmed and clad, The holy, pearly tribute of the heart, Though nature wrings from every breast the sigh, We will not weep as those who hopeless weep; In peace, as havened barks, secure they lie— All troubles o'er, all perils passed away. Who conquering rose; and will He leave his own Blood-ransomed trophies, jewels of his crown? Ah no! that Prince, omnipotent to save, Though Death may still his sable standard wave, A glorious, vivifying morn shall rise: Forth shall they come, as gold which has endured The crucible, to wing yon azure skies, Hence all with her for ever now is well. |