To me, far dearer, was thy artless love,

Than all the joys, wealth, fame, and friends could prove.

For thee alone I liv'd, or wish'd to live,

(Oh God! if impious, this rash word forgive)

Heart broken now, I wait an equal doom,

Content to join thee in thy turf-clad tomb;

Where this frail form compos'd in endless rest,

I'll make my last, cold, pillow on thy breast;

That breast where oft in life, I've laid my head,

Will yet receive me mouldering with the dead;

[pg 16]

This life resign'd without one parting sigh,

Together in one bed of earth we'll lie!

Together share the fate to mortals given,

Together mix our dust, and hope for Heaven.

HARROW, 1803.

ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL, WHEN DYING.

Animula! vagula, Blandula,

Hospes, comesque, corporis,

Quœ nunc abibis in Loca?

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