Classic Poem

Oh my foreboding Heart! it must be so!
Too soon, alas, too soon! I know
The Source of all thy Woe.
See! see, where good Sulpitia lies,
With pallid Cheeks, and dying Eyes:
So placidly she meets her Death,
She seems to offer up her Breath.
Her easy Looks such Resignation show,
From her pale Lips, such Heav'nly Accents flow,
As dying Martys on their Friends bestow.
Nor worldly Thoughts can interrupt her Peace,
Nor parting Tears, disturb her solid Bliss:
Unmov'd, she sees our fond officious Grief,
And tacit'ly sorbids the vain Relief.
Mean while her Soul, with pious Ardor fir'd,
And by an Antepast of Heaven inspir'd,
Does such seraphick, boundless Joys possess,
As none but Saints can feel, and Angels Tongues express.