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Poem	[Pg 406] SONNET FOUND IN LAURA'S TOMB. Qui reposan quei caste e felice ossa. Here peaceful sleeps the chaste, the happy shadeOf that pure spirit, which adorn'd this earth:Pure fame, true beauty, and transcendent worth,Rude stone! beneath thy rugged breast are laid.Death sudden snatch'd the dear lamented maid!Who first to all my tender woes gave birth,Woes! that estranged my sorrowing soul to mirth,While full four lustres time completely made.Sweet plant! that nursed on Avignon's sweet soil,There bloom'd, there died; when soon the weeping MuseThrew by the lute, forsook her wonted toil.Bright spark of beauty, that still fires my breast!What pitying mortal shall a prayer refuse,That Heaven may number thee amid the blest? Anon. 1777. Here rest the chaste, the dear, the blest remainsOf her most lovely; peerless while on earth:What late was beauty, spotless honour, worth,Stern marble, here thy chill embrace retains.The freshness of the laurel Death disdains;And hath its root thus wither'd.—Such the dearthO'ertakes me. Here I bury ease and mirth,And hope from twenty years of cares and pains.This happy plant Avignon lonely fedWith Life, and saw it die.—And with it liesMy pen, my verse, my reason;—useless, dead.O graceful form!—Fire, which consuming fliesThrough all my frame!—For blessings on thy headOh, may continual prayers to heaven rise! Capel Lofft. Here now repose those chaste, those blest remainsOf that most gentle spirit, sole in earth!Harsh monumental stone, that here confinestTrue honour, fame, and beauty, all o'erthrown!Death has destroy'd that Laurel green, and tornIts tender roots; and all the noble meedOf my long warfare, passing (if arightMy melancholy reckoning holds) four lustres.[Pg 407]O happy plant! Avignon's favour'd soilHas seen thee spring and die;—and here with theeThy poet's pen, and muse, and genius lies.O lovely, beauteous limbs! O vivid fire,That even in death hast power to melt the soul!Heaven be thy portion, peace with God on high! Woodhouselee.
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