Classic Poem

Orlando, cease to murmur at thy fate,
Suppress the heaving and afflictive sigh;
Forbear to mourn for dear Eliza's death,
'Tis of mortality, the lot to die!

Say, did not ev'ry grace adorn her mind?
Say, did not Reason at her call attend?
In her was painted Innocence and Truth;
The tender Partner, and the faithful Friend.

Was worth like this to be on Earth confin'd?
Was it not fetter'd when enshrin'd in Dust?
Tho' far sequester'd from each vain pursuit,
And uncorrupted by terrestrial rust.

Cease to repine: no more be thou absorb'd,
In agitations of distressful grief:
Can Friendship, and religious faith combin'd,
Afford no comfort, or dispense relief?

Life is a journey, and our destin'd race;
Its utmost limits are confin'd to age;
Yet oft 'tis compass'd in the prime of Youth,
A rapid, suff'ring, transitory stage.

Such was Eliza's fate—whose polish'd form
Was deck'd with elegant luxuriant grace;
Expressive symbol of an Angel's mind,
Beaming with Virtue in her beauteous face.

Not e'en thy tenderness could e'er assuage
The cruel efforts of her fell disease;
The wish denied, the blessing yet was lent,
To shew compassion and attentive ease.

That task perform'd, there's nought remains for thee
But acquiescence to thy Maker's will;
He gave, and had a right to take away,
His mystic purpose clearly to fulfil.

Could'st thou arrest the pow'rful Arm of Death?
One hour protract Eliza's fragrant bloom?
Or animate the scarce surviving plant?
Or grant a respite from the awful Tomb?

'Twas not ordain'd by Providence divine
That she in this ensnaring World should live;
Resign her, therefore, with a Christian's trust,
To those blest joys Eternity will give.

Behold the pledge of thy connubial love,
The op'ning beauties of her infant mind;
In her, Eliza may survive again,
And thou delight and consolation find.

May she with filial love reward thy care,
May ev'ry blossom prove a source of joy;
May no rude storms, or unrelenting blight,
The flatt'ring prospect cruelly destroy.

From her, sincere affection thou may'st claim,
As thy Eliza died to yield her Birth;
For such a sacrifice, how much she owes,
Which pluck'd from thee the fairest Flow'r on Earth!