Classic Poem

What lovely form, in fun'ral weeds array'd,
Glides in deep silence thro' the solemn shade?
— Th' inverted anchor, and the drooping wing,
Declares 'tis Hope, and whence her sorrows spring:
— Still may she turn, soft maid, her languid eyes,
And meet her heav'n-born sister in the skies!

Alas! he's gone! — nor Sense, with Taste combin'd,
The gentlest manners, with the firmest mind,
Nor polish'd Eloquence, nor artless Truth,
Cou'd save the virtuous, the lamented youth!
Alas — in vain, to foreign climes remov'd,
From ev'ry fond pursuit and friend he lov'd!
In foreign land — nor friend, nor kindred near,
To drop, conceal'd, the agonizing tear,
Those eyes were clos'd, where sense was wont to shine,
And heav'n-born Truth display'd its beams divine!

Hygeia, cruel maid — whom M YRA'S strain,
In falt'ring accents, once invok'd in vain,
Ah! where was thou? — A stranger, sunk and pale,
He sought thee in the warm and distant gale;
In vain his trembling steps thy haunts explor'd,
The Muses sigh'd, and weeping Love deplor'd!
Resistless Fate its gentle victim view'd,
(Ev'n to thy blissful shores it still pursued)
With ruthless pow'r it seiz'd E UGENIO'S breath,
And chill'd thy breezes " with the blast of Death. "

Oh, matchless youth! thy fair and spotless name,
The last sad tribute of the Muse shall claim! —
On Lisbon's rocky shore, forlorn and wild,
Ev'n Wisdom's self shall seek her darling child;
To sacred Truth thy mem'ry shall she trust,
And Virtue's self shall consecrate thy dust! —
But where shall Friendship, hopeless and opprest,
Sooth the keen anguish of her tortur'd breast?
Since — oh the fleeting hour, so quickly pass'd,
Impress'd thy mem'ry on the soul to last,
What thought can reach, what language can define,
The pang, oh Friendship! that's reserved for thine?
In grief profound, methinks thy tender form,
Unheeded wanders thro' the midnight storm;
Or deep transfix'd upon the dreary shore,
It marks the rolling waves tumultuous roar. —
Perchance the parting sigh, that cost so dear,
The last — last sigh, still vibrates on its ear!

Turn, gentle mourner! See, with looks of love,
His Spirit hails thee from thee realms above:
With radiant smiles, and charms divinely bright,
Religion calls thee from the scenes of light!
With glance benignant, she dispells the gloom,
And waves her banners o'er the silent tomb.