ELEGY
.
ON
THE
DEATH
OF
A
YOUNG
LADY
.
BY
THE
SAME
.
YES
,
it
is
past
;
the
fatal
stroke
is
given
.
Our
pious
sorrows
own
the
hand
of
heaven
.
How
short
our
joys
!
incumber'd
life
how
vain
!
Still
vex'd
with
evil's
never-ceasing
train
;
While
roll
the
hours
which
lead
each
fleeting
year
,
Each
asks
a
sigh
,
and
each
demands
a
tear
.
O'er
pleasing
scenes
the
mind
with
rapture
roves
,
Grasps
in
idea
all
its
hopes
or
loves
:
Snatch'd
from
its
view
the
pleasing
scenes
decay
,
And
the
fair
vision
melts
in
shades
away
.
Of
youth
,
of
beauty
,
and
of
wit
the
boast
,
O
lov'd
for
ever
,
and
too
early
lost
,
Sweet
maid
,
for
thee
now
mingling
with
the
dead
,
Her
sacred
griefs
the
tuneful
Muse
shall
shed
;
The
soft
remembrance
of
thy
charms
to
save
She
plants
with
all
her
bays
thy
hallow'd
grave
.
Ye
too
,
companions
of
her
happier
days
,
Heirs
of
her
charms
,
and
rivals
of
her
praise
,
Amid
the
circles
of
the
young
and
gay
Your
years
unheeded
urge
their
stealing
way
,
While
mixt
with
pleasure's
ever-smiling
train
,
Ye
know
no
sorrows
,
and
ye
feel
no
pain
;
Yet
,
when
no
more
the
pulse
tumultuous
beats
,
Nor
the
pleas'd
sense
each
flattering
tale
repeats
,
Let
calm
reflection
the
sad
moral
teach
,
That
bliss
below
evades
our
eager
reach
;
That
virtue
only
grants
the
real
charm
,
Gives
wit
to
win
,
and
beauty
power
to
warm
;
And
tho'
like
hers
,
whose
recent
fate
we
mourn
,
And
ask
your
pity
for
a
sister's
urn
,
Your
beauties
shine
in
all
their
bloom
confest
,
'Mid
gazing
slaves
contending
to
be
blest
,
Yet
think
like
hers
may
soon
those
beauties
fade
;
Like
hers
your
glories
in
the
dust
be
laid
.
Time's
hardy
steps
in
silence
swift
advance
,
Dim
the
bright
ray
that
darts
the
fiery
glance
,
And
Age
,
dread
herald
of
Death's
awful
reign
,
Blasts
every
grace
,
and
freezes
every
vein
.
When
with
a
mother's
joy
,
a
mother's
fear
,
The
thoughtful
parent
dropt
the
silent
tear
,
Gaz'd
on
her
child
,
and
saw
new
beauties
rise
,
Glow
in
her
cheeks
,
and
sparkle
in
her
eyes
,
In
expectation
plann'd
each
hope
of
life
,
The
sister
,
daughter
,
mother
,
friend
,
and
wife
;
Ah
fleeting
joys
!
how
soon
those
hopes
were
o'er
!
We
doom'd
to
mourn
,
and
she
to
charm
no
more
.
The
waning
moon
shall
fill
her
wasted
horn
,
And
nature's
radiance
gild
the
orient
morn
,
The
smiling
spring
with
charms
renew'd
appear
,
The
sleeping
blossoms
haste
to
deck
the
year
,
But
bloom
no
more
this
fair
departed
flower
,
Nor
wak'd
by
genial
sun
,
nor
vernal
shower
.
How
vain
,
alas
!
was
all
thy
father's
art
,
Vain
were
the
sighs
which
swell'd
thy
mother's
heart
.
Again
I
see
thee
just
expiring
lie
,
Pale
thy
cold
lip
,
half
clos'd
thy
languid
eye
,
Thy
guardian
Innocence
beside
thee
stands
,
And
patient
Faith
uplifts
her
holy
hands
,
Teach
thee
with
smiles
to
meet
the
stroke
of
Death
,
Calm
all
thy
pangs
,
and
ease
thy
struggling
breath
.
Resign'd
,
dear
maid
,
to
earth's
maternal
breast
,
May
sister
Seraphs
chant
thy
soul
to
rest
.
There
shall
the
constant
Amaranthus
bloom
,
And
wings
of
Zephyrs
shed
the
morn's
perfume
.
O'er
thy
sad
hearse
,
fair
emblems
of
the
dead
,
By
virgin
hands
are
dying
lilies
shed
.
The
weeping
Graces
shall
thy
tomb
surround
;
The
Loves
with
broken
darts
shall
strew
the
ground
;
In
vain
for
thee
they
wak'd
the
fond
desires
,
Wove
myrtle
wreaths
,
and
fann'd
their
purer
fires
.
The
youthful
God
,
who
joins
the
nuptial
bands
,
In
vain
expecting
,
near
his
altar
stands
;
Fate
spread
the
cloud
:
his
torch
extinct
,
he
flies
,
And
veils
with
saffron
robe
his
streaming
eyes
.
Yet
O
,
while
crown'd
with
never-fading
flowers
,
Thy
spirit
wanders
thro'
Elysian
bowers
,
If
plaintive
sounds
of
mortal
grief
below
Reach
the
blest
seats
,
and
waft
our
tender
woe
,
Hear
,
happy
shade
;
while
thus
our
mortal
lays
This
monument
of
soft
affection
raise
.
By
gentle
ties
of
kindred
birth
allied
,
The
Muse
,
that
sports
on
Camus'
willow'd
side
,
In
Memory's
lofty
dome
inscribes
thy
name
,
And
with
thy
beauties
strives
to
mix
her
fame
.