And slow-wing’d warblers on their airy way,
Breathe their sad wails o’er Murder’s beauteous prey.
Fair maid belov’d! whose vows were kept in heav’n,
By angels welcom’d ere pronounc’d forgiven—
’Tis not alone that thou didst early die,
That rain thee tears from every manly eye—
Not that thy love’s unanswer’d wish was pure,
Does the touch’d heart remember and deplore;
But that thy form a savage hand should doom,
In bridal robes to share a nuptial tomb—