The thief the gallows, as his fate foresees,
And bears the like antipathy to trees.
On the death of Mrs. B——, who died soon after her marriage.
Hail, happy bride! for thou art truly bless’d,
Three months of rapture crowned with endless rest.
Merit like yours was heaven’s peculiar care,
You loved,—yet tasted happiness sincere.
To you the sweets of love were only shown;
The sure succeeding bitter dregs unknown;
You had not yet the fatal change deplored,