TO
COLONEL
R—S.
BY
S—
.
B—
.
ESQ
.
ERE
this
can
drown
the
tenderest
husband's
eyes
,
And
rend
the
fondest
lover's
heart
with
sighs
,
No
more
shall
those
dear
names
my
rapture
move
,
Low
in
the
grave
,
and
deaf
to
thee
and
Love
.
Firm
in
thy
country's
cause
,
thy
king's
defence
,
When
Honour
call'd
thy
patriot
virtues
hence
;
The
slow
disease
which
tainted
then
my
blood
,
In
vain
by
all
the
powers
of
art
withstood
,
Aided
by
grief
more
deadly
,
creeps
at
length
Thro'
every
vein
,
and
undermines
my
strength
.
Already
Death
hath
summon'd
me
away
,
And
Love
,
fond
Love
,
scarce
gains
an
hour's
delay
,
Yet
without
dread
Death's
awful
call
I
hear
,
No
dark
presages
chill
my
soul
with
fear
,
No
unrepented
follies
dread
the
grave
,
And
one
short
moment
more
,
with
anguish
crave
,
Prepar'd
I'm
call'd
,
from
every
terror
free
,
Save
that
for
ever
I
must
part
from
thee
.
But
when
on
thee
my
thoughts
reflecting
rove
,
And
all
the
pleasures
of
our
virtuous
love
;
To
think
how
blest
we
were
,
how
soon
must
part
,
One
deep-felt
pang
would
pierce
the
dullest
heart
;
To
cast
one
longing
,
lingering
look
behind
,
Can
be
no
guilty
weakness
of
the
mind
;
Methinks
when
heaven
hath
kindly
blest
us
here
,
Fond
Love
,
at
parting
,
sheds
a
pious
tear
.
Still
with
each
comfort
will
I
cheer
my
heart
,
Resign'd
to
God
,
tho'
trembling
to
depart
.
Short
is
man's
knowledge
of
a
future
state
,
Perplex'd
with
doubts
,
and
ignorant
of
fate
;
This
one
important
truth
we
only
know
.
Bliss
waits
the
good
,
the
bad
,
eternal
woe
.
But
what
those
blessings
,
what
those
woes
shall
be
,
Thro'
Life's
dull
casement
since
no
eye
can
see
,
Let
Fancy
paint
the
raptures
of
the
skies
,
And
scenes
of
visionary
transport
rise
.
Still
,
as
was
ever
here
my
fondest
joy
,
Let
me
for
thee
my
every
care
employ
;
Still
let
me
serve
,
and
tho'
unseen
,
be
near
,
Not
life
itself
imparts
a
charm
more
dear
.
From
every
dangerous
step
those
feet
to
guide
,
Which
here
to
follow
was
my
virtuous
pride
;
When
wrath
provokes
,
or
fortune
proves
unkind
,
To
lull
the
raging
tumults
of
thy
mind
:
The
sweets
around
of
balmy
sleep
to
shed
,
When
Sickness
binds
thee
to
her
painful
bed
;
To
guard
thee
safely
thro'
the
dreadful
day
,
When
Slaughter
stalks
from
rank
to
rank
for
prey
;
Still
from
thy
breast
to
avert
the
death-fraught
ball
,
And
bid
th'
uplifted
weapon
guiltless
fall
:
Still
at
thy
side
,
as
was
my
wish
below
,
Your
Guardian-angel
wheresoe'er
you
go
.
With
thoughts
like
these
my
drooping
soul
I
warm
,
Plume
every
hope
,
and
every
fear
disarm
.
But
,
ah
!
to
think
what
thy
fond
heart
must
feel
,
When
first
these
lines
the
fatal
news
reveal
,
What
pangs
of
grief
will
rend
thy
gentle
breast
,
Sinks
my
sad
soul
,
with
pain
and
love
opprest
.
But
let
me
from
the
tender
theme
refrain
,
While
every
word
but
sharpens
every
pain
;
For
when
the
hand
that
wounds
would
heal
the
fore
,
The
generous
heart
will
only
bleed
the
more
.
My
latest
breath
for
thee
a
prayer
shall
sigh
,
If
not
deserted
by
myself
,
I
die
.
No
more
shall
I
thy
much-lov'd
face
review
;
Adieu
,
for
ever
,
best
of
friends
,
adieu
!