SUPP0SED TO BE WRITTEN BY ONE ON WHOM
THE DEATH OF AN EXCELLENT WOMAN
HAS FORCED THE CONVICTION OF A FUTURE STATE.
O'erladen with sad musings, till the tear
Sprang to the pressure, I survey'd thy tomb,
All drest in flowers, as though above thy bier,
Thy breath, yet hovering, fed the gentle bloom ;
I said, ' Maria, though I deem'd too long
I'hat souls would fade like music on the air,
Hast thou not brought me confirmation strong
That they shall yet be beautiful elsewhere ?
For thine was so immaculate and rare,
That but the thought of thy deep purity,
Link'd with that other thought, I could not bear ;
Mount then ! bright soul ! and take thy place on high ;
I do confess thou wert so good and fair
That such as thou were never born to die !
The bliss of Heaven, Maria, shall be thine !
Joy link'd to joy by amaranthine bond !
And a fair harp of many strings divine
Shall meet thy touch with unimagined sound !
Meek angel-hood shall dwell within thine eye,
Fed by the action of thy purer soul ;
Thy brow shall beam with fairer dignity —
No more thy cheek shall blench with Care's control,
Nor yield its hues to changes of the heart,
That beats with plenitude of life and woe —
Taking all dyes that sorrow can impart.
Or ever-shifting circumstance bestow :
The prey of present pangs or after- smart,
For ever feeling pain or missing bliss below.
THE DEATH OF AN EXCELLENT WOMAN
HAS FORCED THE CONVICTION OF A FUTURE STATE.
O'erladen with sad musings, till the tear
Sprang to the pressure, I survey'd thy tomb,
All drest in flowers, as though above thy bier,
Thy breath, yet hovering, fed the gentle bloom ;
I said, ' Maria, though I deem'd too long
I'hat souls would fade like music on the air,
Hast thou not brought me confirmation strong
That they shall yet be beautiful elsewhere ?
For thine was so immaculate and rare,
That but the thought of thy deep purity,
Link'd with that other thought, I could not bear ;
Mount then ! bright soul ! and take thy place on high ;
I do confess thou wert so good and fair
That such as thou were never born to die !
The bliss of Heaven, Maria, shall be thine !
Joy link'd to joy by amaranthine bond !
And a fair harp of many strings divine
Shall meet thy touch with unimagined sound !
Meek angel-hood shall dwell within thine eye,
Fed by the action of thy purer soul ;
Thy brow shall beam with fairer dignity —
No more thy cheek shall blench with Care's control,
Nor yield its hues to changes of the heart,
That beats with plenitude of life and woe —
Taking all dyes that sorrow can impart.
Or ever-shifting circumstance bestow :
The prey of present pangs or after- smart,
For ever feeling pain or missing bliss below.