IRREGULAR STANZAS
UPON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY.
It is vain! and her spirit has fled!
Matilda has sunk in the tomb;
The beauty of Nature lies mix’d with the dead:
Alas! how severe is the doom.
As a lily that blows in the vale,
That springs to perfection, and dies;
She bloom’d, and then sick’ned—but shall we bewail;
The grave of the pure is the path to the skies.
The victim of woe and despair,
Her soul now delights in its rest;
And roving with bliss thro’ the regions of air,
Unites in the songs of the blest.