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But weep not o'er yon lonely tomb,— The lov'd Georgina sleeps not there;Yon starry heav'n is now her home, An angel's bliss is now her share.
What though Georgina's mould'ring dust Is laid beneath yon grassy sod,Her soul, with millions of the just, Rejoices round the throne of God!
ON THE RETURN OF SPRING. 1810.
Though youth and health their genial blessings bring,And nature hails the glad return of Spring,Whose lavish hand new clothes the naked ground,And slumb'ring vegetation wakes around;Ah! what avails it, when the deep controulOf sorrow flings a winter o'er the soul?On death's cold cheek can life and beauty bloom,Or Spring revive the ashes of the tomb?All nature smiles; the gaily painted flow'rSprings into life, and hails the vernal hour;But man, when once his little span is o'er,Nor Spring nor Summer can again restore.
