I too, my friend, have felt misfortune’s dart,
Still in my soul the sad remembrance lives
Of objects dear;—Ah! doom’d how soon to part:
Still in the melancholy hour
Memory exerts her tyrant pow’r;
Recalls thy form, Oh! parent dear,
Still bids the much-lov’d shade appear,
And prompts the deep-drawn sigh sincere,
While down my pale cheek flows the tear:
Deep in the grave my tender parent sleeps,