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Such was Georgina—fairest flow'r That ever woo'd the morning gale;But, ah! beneath the tempest's pow'r Soon droop'd the pride of yonder vale.
Though on her cheek health's roseate glow, But lately blush'd so fresh and fair,Death's cruel messenger of woe Soon plac'd the sickly lily there.
Though rich in ev'ry youthful grace, By nature's bounteous hand design'd,Faint were the beauties of her face Compar'd to those that deck'd her mind.
That mind no selfish passion sway'd, 'Twas mild and gentle as the dove;And ev'ry smiling look display'd The soul of tenderness and love.
To make that mind more lovely still Religion came, divine employ!To calm each agonizing thrill, And shed her meek and holy joy;
Taught her on wings of love and faith To heav'n's bright mansions to ascend;To smile at the approach of death, And hail her suff'rings in their end.
