LINES
On the Death of a young Lady who fell a victim to the effects of Lightning.
Charm’d by the vocal notes of plumag’d birds,
Almyra to the grove one morn had stray’d:
Nor thought to sleep in death where lowing herds
And sportive lambs with pleasing freedom play’d.
Beneath a lofty tree, whose shades composed,
O’ercome by heat, Almyra sunk in sleep;
When lo! the clouds with glowing rage opposed,
And roaring thunders bid the heavens to weep.
Amid these scenes the fair-one op’d her eyes,
Her home afar was seen, to which she hied;
To steal concealment from th’ inclement skies,
But, by the lightning’s rage she fell—and died!
How impious ’tis for man to ask why heav’n,
Who rules aright amid the whirling storm,
Should snatch away the object it had given,
And let obnoxious worms destroy that form.
Then let me pause—and think, alas! how soon
The hand of that same God may sweep me down;
Although with health I’m blest, but ere the noon,
Some pitying Bard may say—“his spirit’s gone!”
LUCIUS.
Pine-Street, Sept. 7, 1796.
NEW-YORK: Printed by JOHN BULL, No. 115, Cherry-Street, where every Kind of Printing work is executed with the utmost Accuracy and Dispatch.—Subscriptions for this Magazine (at 2s. per month) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and by E. MITCHELL, Bookseller, No. 9, Maiden-Lane.