Approach: behold this marble. Know ye not The secrets of your bosom? Here then, round YE powers unseen, to whom the bards of Greece More lofty views unfold, and prompt the heart Not quite unpleasing have my votive rites Of you been deem'd, when oft this lonely seat you I consecrated; then vouchsafe Here with your instant energy to crown When most I love to invoke you, and have felt Most frequent your glad ministry divine. The air is calm: the sun's unveiled orb Shines in the middle heaven. The harvest round Stands quiet, and among the golden sheaves The reapers lie reclined. The neighbouring groves Are mute: nor even a linnet's random strain Your influence, ye kind powers! Aloft in heaven By faithful memory. And then at some And give them utterance in harmonious strains, Lo! where this silent marble weeps, A friend, a wife, a mother, sleeps; A heart, within whose sacred cell The peaceful virtues loved to dwell: Affection warm, and faith sincere, And soft humanity, were there. In agony, in death, resigned, She felt the wound she left behind. Her infant image here below, Sits smiling on a father's woe; |