on the death of john m'leod, esq,
brother to a young dy, a particur friend of the author's.
sad thy tale, thou idle page,
and rueful thy arms:
death tears the brother of her love
from isabel's arms.
sweetly deckt with pearly dew
the m rose may blow;
but cold successive noos
may y its beauties low.
fair on isabel's morn
the sun propitious smil'd;
but, long ere noon, succeeding clouds
succeeding hopes beguil'd.
fate oft tears the bosom chords
that nature fi strung;
so isabel's heart was form'd,
and so that heart was wrung.
dread omnipotence alone
heal the wound he gave—
point the brimful grief-worn eyes
to ses beyond the grave.
virtue's blossoms there shall blow,
and fear no withering bst;
there isabel's spotless worth
shall happy be at st.