Who, exposing Her own Life to visit a Sick Brother, dy'd in the SMALL-POX, March 15, 1732
And art thou fled, O! much lamented maid!
And all thy rising glory sunk in shade?
As some gay phantom plays before the sight,
Or meteor cheats the wand'ring swain by night,
Delusive thus appear'd the fleeting fair,
Just mock'd our view, and melted into air.
Thro' what dark scenes deluded mortals stray?
How blind the stage, when death winds up the play;
Yet each brave actor may sedately die,
Laugh at vain fortune, and her darts defy.
Thus Lucia calmly fell in all her bloom,
Smil'd at the plot, and triumph'd o'er the tomb.
Living she spread her amorous conquests wide,
And still victorious, conquer'd when she dy'd.
Like those brave chiefs, who dying, win the day,
She made inexorable death obey.
To save a dying brother's breath she came,
Wept o'er his bed, and kept alive his flame;
If one of us must fall—she nobly cry'd,
The lot be mine—and generously dy'd:
When he lay panting, all his pains she bore,
And in her own last anguish felt not more.
But oh! ye guardian Powers, where'er she flys,
With hovering wings conduct her thro' the skys.
See how the clouds to grace her virgin bed,
Have o'er the skys a mourning mantle spread;
See all the fields in fleecy veils are drest,
See all creation wear a virgin vest.
Vain is the tinsel pomp of funeral show,
See mournful nature, o'er her bosom throw
A feather'd covering, and a shroud of snow.
A happy picture of the fair design'd,
White as her bosom, gentle as her mind,
Soft as those blossoms fall, then melt away,
Spotless she fell, and fled to realms of day.
And art thou fled, O! much lamented maid!
And all thy rising glory sunk in shade?
As some gay phantom plays before the sight,
Or meteor cheats the wand'ring swain by night,
Delusive thus appear'd the fleeting fair,
Just mock'd our view, and melted into air.
Thro' what dark scenes deluded mortals stray?
How blind the stage, when death winds up the play;
Yet each brave actor may sedately die,
Laugh at vain fortune, and her darts defy.
Thus Lucia calmly fell in all her bloom,
Smil'd at the plot, and triumph'd o'er the tomb.
Living she spread her amorous conquests wide,
And still victorious, conquer'd when she dy'd.
Like those brave chiefs, who dying, win the day,
She made inexorable death obey.
To save a dying brother's breath she came,
Wept o'er his bed, and kept alive his flame;
If one of us must fall—she nobly cry'd,
The lot be mine—and generously dy'd:
When he lay panting, all his pains she bore,
And in her own last anguish felt not more.
But oh! ye guardian Powers, where'er she flys,
With hovering wings conduct her thro' the skys.
See how the clouds to grace her virgin bed,
Have o'er the skys a mourning mantle spread;
See all the fields in fleecy veils are drest,
See all creation wear a virgin vest.
Vain is the tinsel pomp of funeral show,
See mournful nature, o'er her bosom throw
A feather'd covering, and a shroud of snow.
A happy picture of the fair design'd,
White as her bosom, gentle as her mind,
Soft as those blossoms fall, then melt away,
Spotless she fell, and fled to realms of day.
