Classic Poem

Tho' thou art gone from friendship and from me,
I'll give to justice what I can't to thee:
Mute hast thou left thy mourning partner's tongue,
And like his heart-strings is his lyre unstrung
Oft he's had joys, when guiltless of disguise
It beam'd with tenfold transport from thy eyes
Had he a grief, or was oppress'd with care,
Thou kept'st within thyself the greater share;
And, mild as air that fans the southern seas,
Thou calm'st his troubled mind till all was peace
In chastity thou held'st thy husband's heart,
To all, but him, as cold as now thou art.
Yet thy breast breath'd benevolence divine,
As thou wert his, so all his friends were thine
There's one at least who can affect no art,
Whose grief is nature, and who acts no part —
Who on thy bed of earth, and on thy bier,
Bled from the eye one unaviling tear,
The rest to him who has the pow'r to save,
And bid th' archangel sound thy triumph o'er the grave.