gay

Ye too, companions of her happier days,
Heirs of her charms, and rivals of her praise,
Amid the circles of the young and
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 though, 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 these 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 a 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 chaunt 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 through Elysian bowers, If plaintive sounds of mortal grief below Reach the blest seats, and waft our tender woe, Hear, happy shade; while thus her mortal lays This monument of soft affection raise.

By gentle ties of kindred birth ally'd,

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.

ELEGY XIX.

WRITTEN IN MDCCLVIII.

BY

JAMES BEATTIE, L. L. D.

STILL shall unthinking man substantial deem

The forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream? Till at some stroke of Fate the vision flies,

And sad realities in prospect rise;

And, from Elysian slumbers rudely torn,

The startled soul awakes, to think, and mourn.

O ye, whose hours in jocund train advance,
Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance,
Who flowery plains in endless pomp survey
Glittering in beams of visionary day;
O, yet while Fate delays th' impending woe,
Be roused to thought, anticipate the blow;
Lest, like the lightning's glance, the sudden ill
Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill;

Lest, thus encompass'd with funereal gloom,
Like me, ye bend o'er some untimely tomb,
Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear,
And half pronounce Heaven's sacred doom severe.

Wise, Beauteous, Good! O every grace combin'd,

That charms the eye, or captivates the mind!
Fresh, as the floweret opening on the morn,
Whose leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn!
Sweet, as the downy-pinion'd gale, that roves
To gather fragrance in Arabian groves!
Mild, as the melodies at close of day,

That heard remote along the vale decay!

Yet, why with these compared? What tints so

fine,

What sweetness, mildness, can be match'd with

thine ?

Why roam abroad, since recollection true

Restores the lovely form to Fancy's view?
Still let me gaze, and every care beguile,
Gaze on that cheek, where all the graces smile;
That soul-expressing eye, benignly bright,
Where meekness beams ineffable delight;

That brow, where Wisdom sits enthroned serene,
Each feature forms, and dignifies the mien :
Still let me listen, while her words impart

The sweet effusions of the blameless heart,