Dear as thou didst in modest worth excel,
More dear than in a daughter’s name—farewell!
Farewell, dear Mary—but the hour is nigh
When, if I’m worthy, we shall meet on high:
Then shall I say, triumphant from the tomb,
“Come, to thy father’s arms, dear Mary, come!”
INSCRIPTION
From the book at Rigi, in Switzerland.
Nine weary up-hill miles we sped
The setting sun to see;
Sulky and grim he went to bed.
Sulky and grim went we.
Seven sleepless hours we past, and then,
The rising sun to see,
Sulky and grim we rose again.
Sulky and grim rose he.
[41] Boaden’s Life of Mrs. Siddons.