With ev’ry sweet is mixed gall;
Each pleasing prospect that allures,
But a momentous bliss insures.
I’ve felt, alas! this fatal truth,
And been a prey from early youth;
Have drank of sorrow’s bitter cup,
But pleasing hope still bears me up.
With our lov’d friends we here must part,
Death, unrelenting, aims his dart;
We all must his stern call obey,