To Mary In Heaven
Thou lingering star, with lessening ray
That lovest to greet the early morn,
Again thou usherest in the day
My Mary from my soul was torn.
O Mary! Dear, departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest?
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?
That sacred hour can I forget,
Can I forget the hallowed grove,
Where by the winding Ayr, we met,
To live one day of parting love?
Eternity can not efface
Those records dear of transports past;
Thy image at our last embrace,
Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!
Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore,
O'erhung with wild-woods, thickening green;
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
Twined, am'rous, round the raptured scene:
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every spray;
Till too, too soon the glowing west
Proclaimed the speed of winged day.
Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
And fondly broods with miser-care;
Time but th' impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear,
My Mary! dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest!
Seest thou thy Lover lowly laid!
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast!