Women kind now lay her out,
In pure white her corpse invest.
WILLIAM then, by nature taught,
With poetic feeling fraught,
This warm song to her addressed:
SONG TO AMELIA.
Still like to Luna wading,
Beneath yon silvery cloud,
Thy beauties are unfading,
Though mantled in a shroud.
As thou in death art lying,
Thy lovely form I view,
And ask if aught in dying
Has made thy charms seem new.
Say, wert thou conscious ever
That I to thee was true?
That naught but death could sever
The bond 'twixt me and you?
I came with heart nigh bursting
From thee to get relief.
My very soul was thirsting
To let thee share its grief.
And now this stroke has fallen
Like thunderbolt on me,
And my poor heart is swollen
With saddest misery.
Oh, where can I be flying
For strength and succor now?
If there were hope in dying,
I soon to death would bow.
But now my duty strongly
Bids me my task fulfil;
Thy family suffered wrongly,
To right them I've the will.
And then I would be leaving
Each bitter scene of woe,
Haply my loss retrieving,
If that can be below.