12 XXX. To a Lady weeping. WEEP, daughter of a royal line, A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay; Ah, happy! if each tear of thine Could wash a father's fault away! 5. Quaff while thou canst-another race, When thou and thine like me are sped, May rescue thee from earth's embrace, And rhyme and revel with the dead. 6. Why not? since through life's little day Our heads such sad effects produce; Redeemed from worms and wasting clay, This chance is theirs, to be of use. Newstead Abbey, 1808. XXX. To a Lady weeping. WEEP, daughter of a royal line, A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay; Ah, happy! if each tear of thine Could wash a father's fault away! |