404 MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS. 6 I was all love, and she was all delight. Let me run back to seasons past; Ah flow'ry days, when first she charm'd my sight! But roses, will not always last. ë Yet still Sophronia pleas'd. Nor time, nor care, Could take her youthful bloom away: Virtue has charms which nothing can impair Beauty like hers could ne'er decay. 7 Grace is a sacred plant of heav'nly. birth : The seed descending from above Roots in a soil refin'd, grows high on earth, And blooms with life, and joy and love. 8- Such was Sophronia's soul. Celestial dew, And angels food were her repast: Devotion was her work; and thence she drew Delights which strangers never 9 Not the gay splendors of a flatt'ring court Could tempt her to appear and shine: Her solemn airs forbid the world's re- sort. But I was blest and she was mine. to Safe on her welfare all my pleasures hung; Her smiles could all my pains con - tronl; Her soul was made of softness, and her tongue Was soft and gentle as her soul. li She was my guide, my friend, my earthly all ; Love grewwithcurry waning moon : Had heav'n a length of years delay'd its call, Still I had thought it call'd toosoon. 12 But peace, my sorrows! nor with murmuring voice Dare to accuse heav'n's high decree: She was first ripe for everlasting joys; Sophron, she waits above for thee. taste. LIV.!In Elegy on the much lamented Death ofMrs Eliza- beth Bury, late Wife of the Reverend Mr. Samuel Bury of Bristol, annexed to some Memoirs of her Life, drawn up by hire; but collected out of her own Papers. SHE must ascend; her treasure lies on high, And thereber heart ¡e. Bear her thro' the sky On wings of harmony, ye sons oflight, And with surroundingshields protect her flight. Teach ber the wondrous songs yourselves compose For yon bright world ; she'll learn 'em as she goes ; The sense was known before : Those sacred themes, The God, the Saviour, and the flowing streams That ting'd the cursed tree with blood divine, Purchas'd a heav'n, and wash'd a world from sin ; The beams, the bliss, the vision of that face Where the whole godhead shines in mildest grace ; These are the notes for which your harps are strung. These were the joy and labour of her tongue In our dark regions. These exalted strains Brought paradise to earth, and sooth'd her pains. " Souls made of pious harmony and love, " Can be no strangers to their work above." But must we lose her hence? The muse in pain Regrets her flight, and calls the saint again. Stay, gentle spirit, say, Can nature find No charms to hold the once unfetter'd mind! Most all those virtues, all those graces soar Far from our sight, and bless the earth no more? Must the fair saint to worlds immortal climb, For ever lost to all the sons of time ? O, no ; she is not lost. Behold her here, How just the form! how soft the lines appear !
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