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She clos'd my darling Peter's eyes,
When low I sunk, with grief o'ercome ; And sweet Petrina's latest sighs
Were breath'd upon the knees of MOOME!
Could earnest yows, and pious cares,
The fading light of life relume, True tears of love and fervent prayers
Had lengthen’d out the years of Mgome,
The mean abodes of Want and Pain,
Where none but Mercy loves to come, Shunn'd by the haughty, rich, and vain,
Were still the chosen haunts of Moome.
Where sickness pin’d with languid eye,
And poverty increas'd the gloom, Disease and cheerless want would fly
Before the kindly aid of MoOME.
Her prayers and alms, and deeds of love,
Arose to heaven like sweet perfume, And balmy comfort from above
Distill’d upon the heart of Moome,
Whate'er she had she freely gave,
And nought in secret would consume; No hermit in his lonely cave
Was e'er so self-deny'd as Moome,
Though rude her phrase and harsh her stile,
Unused in learning's paths to roam, Compassion's kind benignant smile
Was native eloquence to MOOME,
And probity and useful toil,
And independence found a home, Congenial in the hallow'd soil,
Beneath the humble roof of MOOME.
Though elegance and arts refin'd
Were strangers to her lowly dome, The ardour of a noble mind
Gave power and dignity to MooME.
Her dignity was worth and truth,
Whose power could proudest minds o'ercome, And hopeless age and helpless youth
Took shelter in the shade of Moome,
And well in decent garb she lov'd
To visit oft the sacred dome; And thoughtless CHARLOTTE well approv'd
The destin'd mantle wrought for MOOME.
Though CHARLOTTE still forgetful prove,
The Muse in Fancy's airy loom Has thus her simple texture wove,
To deck the cold remains of MoOME.
And when the mighty Angel's voice
Shall wake the dreadful trump, of doom, Blest infant spirits shall rejoice
To meet the generous soul of MoOME !
Kind Charity, with open hand,
Shall some angelic form assume, And like her guardian Genius stand
To watch the long repose of MoOME.
Be mine, to bid around her grave
The ivy twine and roses bloom, And from Oblivion's gulph to save
The name of much-lamented Moome.
And while my humble wreath I hang
With reverence on her lowly tomb, My heart still vibrates with the pang
That burst the liberal heart of MoOME!
NYMPH OF THE FOUNTAIN
" O fountain Arethuse, and thou honour'd flood, “ Smooth sliding Mincia, crown'd with crisped reeds, " That strain I heard was of a higher mood,
but now my oat proceeds.
Fair daughter of that fleeting race
Who fade like Autumn's leafy store,
And all my secret cells explore.
* Full many an oak, whose lofty head
With sacred misletoe was crown'd,
Sunk dodder'd to its native ground.
* The way to this beautiful fountain lies through a mossy heath, entirely covered with large fallen trees, mostly sunk into the earth by their own weight.