Classic Poem

And can it be? and is her spirit fled?
Is dear O PHELIA number'd with the dead?
Are all the days of her probation past!
And is her die unalterably cast!
Heart piercing thought — flow tears from ev'ry eye,
While ev'ry bosom rises with a sigh.
What goodness, prudence, wisdom, laid in dust.
Ah! Who the greatest potentate can trust?
Where's he, could I each mortal's name rehearse,
Who pow'r hath gain'd this sentence to reverse?

Obdurate King — Insatiable Death!
Who thus a period puts to mortal's breath;
By thy crule hand no deference is paid,
Greatness with indigence in dust is laid!
Destruction is essential to thy name,
And all thy direful acts thy pow'r proclaim.
What hopes are spoil'd! What near connections broke!
By this thy sudden, unrelenting stroke!
The life destroy'd, the valuable life
Of mistress, sister, daughter, mother, wife.

See her domestics, who her goodness knew,
Pour forth the tribute to her merit due;
While weeping sisters bath'd in tears remain,
And sighing brothers scarce their grief sustain,
While tender, aged parents' hearts o'erflow,
Nor joy, nor rest, nor consolation know,
While duteous children, sent her by the Lord,
In fruitless tears, the mournful day record.
And then behold, but ah! what heart can guess
The grief profound, the depth of that distress,
Which seiz'd at once the partner of her bed,
When told his wife, his other self was dead?
Trembling methinks, with ev'ry thought amaz'd,
Astonish'd at the messenger he gaz'd!
The vital stream congeals in ev'ry vein,
While scarcely spirits, strength, or life remain.
Anxious at once the whole dread scene to know,
Yet dreads to hear what will increase his woe.
At length inform'd — delug'd in grief he lies,
Nor hopes redress, but from his weeping eyes.
He calls the friendly tear to ease his grief:
But these recoil, nor deign to give relief.
Thus with an heart o'erborne, and spirits broke,
He sinks beneath th' intolerable stroke.
He ruminates — at length the silence breaks,
And thus methinks, in pensive accents speaks:
" Alas! for me, my happier days are o'er,
I hear the voice — behold the face no more
Of her, my friend, my best belov'd, my wife,
The joy, support, and comfort of my life;
The tender mother of my progeny,
The prudent mistress of my family;
How many useful years might she have spent,
To bless those children, which by Heav'n are lent,
To guide their feet, inculcate filial fear,
While ev'ry look maternal love did bear?
Her sense with prudence order'd all within,
When I, for weeks and months have absent been.
My help-mate she, who with superior grace,
Adorn'd the mistress, wife and mother's place. "
Thus mourns her spouse, while numbers swell the cry,
Who knew her worth, will not a tear deny:
A tear of sympathy for those distrest,
Whose wants her friendly hand so oft redrest.
And 'twere but just in those, if in return,
With grateful tears they wash'd O PHELIA'S urn.
Thus shew the noble, truly gen'rous few,
Th' unfeign'd respect to their lov'd mem'ry due.