Since title deck'd my higher birth;

Yet envy not this gaudy state,

Thine is the pride of modest worth.

Our souls at least congenial meet,

Nor can thy lot my rank disgrace;

Our intercourse is not less sweet,

Since worth of rank supplies the place.

November, 1802.

[pg 4] 

[pg 4]

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY, COUSIN TO THE AUTHOR AND VERY DEAR TO HIM.

Hush'd are the winds, and still the evening gloom,

Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove,

Whilst I return to view my Margaret's tomb,

And scatter flowers on the dust I love.

2.

Within this narrow cell reclines her clay,

That clay where once such animation beam'd;

The king of terrors seiz'd her as his prey,

Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem'd.

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