to mary in heaven
thou ling&# star, with lessening ray,
that lov'st to greet the early morn,
again thou usher'st in the day
my mary from my soul was torn.
o mary! dear departed shade!
where is thy pce of blissful rest?
see'st thou thy lover lowly id?
hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?
that sacred hour i fet,
i fet the hallow'd grove,
where, by the winding ayr, we met,
to live one day of parting love!
eternity will not efface
those records dear of transports past,
thy image at our st embrace,
ah! little thought we 'twas our st!
ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore,
o'erhung with wild-woods, thiing green;
the fragrant bird hawthorn hoar,
'twin'd amorous round the raptur'd se:
the flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
the birds sang love on every spray;
till too, too soon, the glowi,
procim'd the speed of winged day.
still o'er these ses my mem'ry wakes,
and fondly broods with miser-care;
time but th' impression stronger makes,
as streams their els deeper wear,
my mary! dear departed shade!
where is thy blissful pce of rest?
see'st thou thy lover lowly id?
hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?