Classic Poem

With Musidora dead,
Oh! who can tell what wond'rous Charms are fled?
That graceful Presence, that majestick Mein:
That lovely Person, and that Mind serene:
That native Sweetness, and the Converse free:
That gen'rous Candour, that Humility:
That tuneful Hand, those dear engaging Eyes,
The Grave's irrevocable Prize;
Are now, alas, no more!
Lament in vain we may, but never can restore!
Could Sighs, and Tears, our Loss regain,
They should for ever flow;
But Sighs, and Tears, alas, are vain!
Nor Profit the Deceas'd, nor mitigate our Woe:
Such Turns are not of Chance, but dated from on High,
She must no more to us descend, but we to her shall fly.
Each fleeting Day, this Union hastes,
And Life ebbs out a-pace.
So sister Streams, thro' diff'rent Ways
Their winding Courses run,
Till they regain their native Place,
And in their Parent Ocean's Arms embrace,
And meet, and mingle, where they first begun.