Ah! lost, for ever lost! the breath that warm'd,
The wit that ravish'd, and the mien that charm'd!
Here sleeps beneath, the fairest of the fair,
The Graces' darling, and the Muses' care!
Who once could fix a thousand gazers eyes,
Now cold and lifeless unregarded lies!
Who once the soul in bonds of love detain'd,
Now lies, alas! in stronger bonds restrain'd.
Pale Death has risled all her pleasing store,
And Nature loaths a sorm so lov'd before!
Is there a fair whose features point the dart,
Charm the six'd eye, and fascinate the heart?
Behold what soon disarms the childish sting,
And plucks the wanton plume from Cupid's wing!
Then boast no longer Wit's fallacious store;
The sweets of sprightly Converse boast no more:
Those lips so fram'd to each persuasive art,
No more shall touch the ear, and win the heart!
Let Beauty here her transient blessing weigh,
Let humbled Wit her pitying tribute pay:
Let Female Grace vouchsafe the kindly tear:
Wit, Grace, and Beauty, once were center'd here!
Ye sacred Bards, who tun'd the drama's lays,
Here pay your incense of distinguish'd praise!
She gave your scenes with every grace to shine:
She gave new feeling to the nervous line;
Her beauties well supply'd each tragic lore,
And shew'd those charms your Muse but feign'd before!
Here round her shrine your votive wreaths bestow,
Around her shrine eternal greens shall grow.
The listning groves shall learn her name to sing,
And zephyrs wast it on their downy wing;
Till every shade these doleful sounds return,
And every gale in sullen dirges mourn!