Classic Poem

TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. FORBES OF NEWHALL.

A H , life! thou short uncertain blaze,
Scarce worthy to be wish'd or lov'd,
When by strict death so many ways,
So soon, the sweetest are remov'd!

In prime of life and lovely glow,
The dear Brucina must submit;
Nor could ward off the fatal blow,
With every beauty, grace, and wit.

If outward charms, and temper sweet,
The cheerful smile, and thought sublime,
Could have preserv'd, she ne'er had met
A change till death had sunk with time.

Her soul glanc'd with each heavenly ray,
Her form with all those beauties fair
For which young brides and mothers pray,
And wish for to their infant care.

Sour spleen or anger, passion rude,
These opposites to peace and heaven,
Ne'er pal'd her cheek, nor fir'd her blood;
Her mind was ever calm and even.

Come, fairest nymphs, and gentle swains,
Give loose to tears of tender love;
Strew fragrant flowers on her remains,
While sighing round her grave you move.

In mournful notes your pain express,
While with reflection you run o'er,
How excellent, how good she was: —
She was, alas! — but is no more!

Yet piously correct your moan,
And raise religious thoughts on high,
After her spotless soul, that 's gone
To joys that ne'er can fade or die.