Classic Poem

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF ELIZA

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE " Pleasures of Solitude . "

While to their splendid scenes the race
Of fickle Pleasure madly throng,
I seek, sweet Saint! this lonely place,
And wake the melancholy song.

Though years have pass'd; still, from my mind
Years to efface thy memory fail! —
Why lingered Friendship then behind
Thy blameless sufferings to bewail!

Oh, if a flame as mild, as pure
As ever warm'd the virgin-breast,
May Heaven's approving smile secure,
Dear parted Spirit! thou art blest.

Children of Hope, to whom is dear
The morning of life's little day,
Though rapture raise th' impassioned tear,
Yet thoughtful view this kindred clay.

There sleeps beneath that chilling sod,
One, blythely innocent as you,
Who erst the stage of being trod,
And all its warmest transports knew.

But ere the genial hour had past,
While yet the morning sweetly smiled,
Her sun of peace was overcast,
And rudely lower'd the tempest wild!

Sacred the bounds, that now contain
What once could tenderest joys inspire;
Here, let Repose eternal reign,
Here, Love and Friendship oft retire.

Fresh o'er this earth the green-grass wave;
And, softening here, ye tempests sigh;
'Tis sweet E LIZA'S early grave:
Here Youth and Love and Beauty lie!