Sonett-Forum

On Seeing a Youth Affectionately Welcomed by a Sister

I too a sister had! too cruel Death!
How sad remembrance bids my bosom heave!
Tranquil her soul as sleeping infant’s breath;
Meek were her manners as a vernal eve.

Knowledge, that frequent lifts the bloated mind,
Gave her the treasure of a lowly breast;
And Wit, to venomed Malice oft assigned,
Dwelt in her bosom in a turtle’s nest.

Cease, busy Memory! cease to urge the dart,
Nor on my soul her love to me impress!
For oh! I mourn in anguish; and my heart

Feels the keen pang, th’ unutterable distress.
Yet wherefore grieve I that her sorows cease,
For life was misery, and the grave is peace.