Slight is your wound, who mourn a Guardian lost,
Though grief's sharp sting now prompts the pious sigh;
He lives the friend of man, the Muse's boast,
And Bounty's hand shall wipe your streaming eye.
But ah! what balm shall heal His bleeding heart,
Who for the Friend, and for the Lover mourns!
Of all the joys that friendship can impart,
When love's divinest flame united burns,
Possess'd so late! but now possess'd no more!—
Thus triumphs fate o'er all that charms below;
Thus curbs the storm till joy's meridian hour,
To wrap the smiling scene in darker woe.
Sole object of a Mother's tender care,
Could ought of song avail to ease thy pain;
Or charm a Parent's, Sister's, Friend's despair;
Fain would the Muse attempt some soothing strain.
But what can soothe, when Hope denies her aid!
Far in the silent depth of yonder gloom,
Where the weak lamp wan wavers o'er the dead,
She hides in sable dust her sparkling plume.
T' enrage their smart, Remembrance wakes severe,
And bids the vanish'd years again to roll;
Again they seem that soothing voice to hear,
Again those looks shoot transport to the soul.
The vision flies, and leaves the mind to mourn,
Saddening each scene that pleas'd while She was by;
For ah! those vanish'd years no more return;
Mute the soft voice, and clos'd the gentle eye.
Come, Resignation, with uplifted brow,
And eye of rapture smiling though in tears;
Come, for thou lov'st the silent house of woe,
When no fond friend the abandon'd mansion cheers.
Come, for 'tis thine to soothe the Mourner's smart,
The throbs of hopeless anguish to control,
With healing balm to point Death's levell'd dart,
And melt in heavenly dreams the parting soul.
We mark'd Thy triumphs in that hour of dread;
When from Her eyes, that look'd a last adieu,
Each weeping friend seem'd vanishing in shade,
And darkening slow the swimming scene withdrew.