« НазадПродовжити »
Glad heaven receives it, and seraphic lyres
V ER SES
OCCASIONED BY THE
DEATH of Mr. AIK MAN,
A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR's.
S those we love decay, we die in part,
String after string is fever'd from the heart;
thou foul of her I love, Ah! tell me, whither art thou fled; To what delightful world above,
Appointed for the happy dead?
And sometimes share thy lover's woe;
Can now, alas! no comfort know?
While, under ev'ry well-known tree,
And every tear is full of thee;
Should then the weary eye of grief,
Befide fome sympathetic stream, In slumber find a short relief,
Oh visit thou my foothing dream!