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Poem by Thomas Gent

On the Death of Charlotte Smith


Sweet songstress! whom the melancholy Muse
With more than fondness lov'd, for thee she strung
The lyre, on which herself enraptur'd hung,
And bade thee through the world its sweets diffuse.
Oft hath my childhood's tributary tear
Paid homage to the sad, harmonious strain,
That told, alas, too true, the grief and pain,
Which thy afflicted mind was doom'd to bear.
Rest, sainted spirit! from a life of woe,
And tho' no friendly hand on thee bestow
The stately marble, or emblazon'd name,
To tell a thoughtless world who sleeps below;
Yet o'er thy narrow bed a wreath shall blow,
Deriving vigour from the breath of fame. 

Thomas Gent

Thomas Gent's other poems:
  1. On a Delightful Drawing in my Album
  2. Prometheus
  3. On the Portrait of the Son of J.G. Lambton, Esq
  4. Invocation to Sleep
  5. The Chain-Pier, Brighton

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