(seq. 77)

72

To the Dead

Hail! thou departed spirit hail! what world

Detains thy soul, where awful truths unfold,

Those pregnant truths of which your tongue has sung,

To grace with horror all the smiles of song,

Prolific with the hastening fate of souls,

That straggle here on restless strag'ling worlds ~

O! dread inhabitant in hurry fled,

Till wandring thro the lonesom gloomy shade,

That dropt thy body here inactive all,

Which naught can rouse till the last trumpet call,

Shall mould thy dust proportioning anew

The man disolvd, no more to bid adieu,

But soul & body join no more to part,

With bliss that joys, or pain that rends thy heart,

Why illegible disturb thyself or teaze thy mind,