Oh mournful, mournful fate!' thy friends exclaim!
'One envious hour of these invalued joys
Robs thee forever!--But they add not here,
'It robs thee, too, of all desire of joy'--
A truth, once uttered, that the mind would free
From every dread and trouble. 'Thou art safe
The sleep of death protects thee, and secures
From all the unnumbered woes of mortal life!
While we, alas! the sacred urn around
That holds thine ashes, shall insatiate weep,