Murmur their summons, to “despair and die!”
No! e’en though joy depart, though reason cease,
Still virtue’s ruin’d home is redolent of peace.
They might be with thee still—the loved, the tried,
The fair, the lost—they might be with thee still!
More softly seen, in radiance purified
From each dim vapour of terrestrial ill.
Long after earth received them, and the note
Of the last requiem o’er their dust was pour’d,
As passing sunbeams o’er thy soul might float