Save that an ivy’s stragling leaf
Shook in the breathings of my grief;
Watch’d Pity through her starting tears,
Numbering too soon thy transient years;
Lorn Loves, that knew thee well, were by;
And Sorrow with reverted eye.
Yes; “thou wast all that youth admires,
A parent seeks, or friend desires!”
Ah, if yet spar’d, to that lone shrine
Direct me, some remaining sign!