Poem by Anne Grant

To the Memory of a Young Lady, Who Died near Inverness in the 21st Year of Her Age, August, 1776

WHAT sound of woe from yonder grove
Floats mournful on the dying gale?
Like echo to the plaintive dove,
Responsive through the winding vale.
Each chaster love and milder grace
There weep round gentle JESSY'S tomb,
There join to consecrate the place,
And teach the flowers more lasting bloom.
Though now, an undecaying flow'r,
She decks the bright celestial shore,
And past the final painful hour,
She suffers grief and care no more!
Yet oft shall pity's melting tear
Bedew the turf where JESSY lies;
And often shall her fate severe
Dissolve in woe the brightest eyes.
The virgin choir shall there resort,
And there with sad remembrance tell,
How through malicious cruel sport
She envy's early victim fell.
Though formed in beauty's softest mould,
No pride her spotless bosom knew;
As years increasing onward roll'd,
Her gentle mind more timid grew.
Unknown to her each trivial art,
Which callous, hollow breasts conceal;
Sway'd by the feelings of her heart,
That artless heart was form'd to feel;
With pure and faithful love to glow,
To cherish friendship's sacred tie,
To melt away in virtuous woe,
Or throb with tenderest sympathy.
Unskill'd in envy's treacherous ways,
How could she guard against its power?

1. The Aged Bard’s Wish
2. The Highlanders: Part I
3. Morduth - Book I
4. An Answer to a Poetical Apology
5. Peaceful Shades

Print

1599 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version