All our joys are perished with thee alone,
But thou art happy and blessed, my dear
Penelope, who, by one touch of Death, hast
Escaped so many and so great miseries.
Those that descend into the grave are not concealed from Heaven.
Thy locks of pure shining gold, the lightening of thy angelic smile, which used to make a Paradise on earth, are now become only a little senseless dust.
Beauty, this then is thy last asylum!