220 MISCELLANEOUS POEM$.? Nor, such our strong affection, could we know How dearly--deeplym'till we felt the blow. Eyes, that ne'er wept, in tears thy loss deplore,. And hearts feel now, that never felt before. Oh, thine were virtues language would make less, And mar the excellence it would express; With no rash footstep dares the muse invade The hallow'd sanctuary where thou ?rt laid,. Nor o'er thy tomb, with zeal mistaken, strive To heap that incense, thou abhorr'dst alive. Let fulsome Flattery pour the sickly strain O'er the vile relics, she can ne'er profane, But simple flowers alone 'tis meet to spread Above the ashes of the high-soul'd dead. The orphan's wild lament--the widow's tear, Proclaim thy virtues, while they grace thy bier, And speak thy praise more eloquently well, Than all that sculpture, or that verse, can tell; While, should these fail, retir'd from mortal eye,, Thy deeds are written, where they cannot die; And still, in one sad .b0som's lonely gloom, Thy dear remembrance finds a living tomb. Oh, if we weep, with grief so wild and keen, Her, whom we view'd from far, o.r loved unseen, If ev'n the Cold their woe cannot controui, What must thou feel;the partae.r of her soul? ......... ?Google.
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