To the Countess of Londonberry; on the Death of Several of Her Children

ON THE DEATH OF SEVERAL OF HER CHILDREN .

Star of beauty, wit, and grace!
How thy lustre is decay'd!
Parent of a dazzling race,
How thy filial blossoms fade!

Cold are their enchanting forms ,
Minds with sparkling treasure stor'd —
Swept by Nature's pelting storms,
Fleeting blooms, and shades deplor'd.

Thee , to life condemn'd, I mourn;
Thee , but not the vernal flower —
From its thorns in mercy torn,
Rose of an unfading bower.

Bless the dead, with whom enshrin'd
Is the hope that smiles on fate —
Hope, that in the joys they find,
Bliss of theirs, for thee can wait.

They are witnesses for thee ,
To the hearts by thee caress'd —
Sacred is the filial plea;
They are heard; and thou art bless'd.
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.