Viewing the stranger with a wild surprize.

The form was clad in robes of purest white,
That swept with solemn dignity the ground;
Contrasting with the blackest gloom of night,
Which reign'd in awful majesty around.

The silver beard did reverence demand,[8]
And told her that a holy bard was there,
Whose shrivell'd fingers grasp'd a flaming brand,
Which threw a lustre on the waving hair.

His eye possess'd the brilliant fire of youth,
United with the wisdom of the sage;
And speaking, with the simple voice of truth,
He blended the solemnity of age.

"Arise! thou loveliest of misfortune's train,
And cease these weak, desponding tears to shed;
The soft effusions of thy grief restrain,
Which serve but to disturb the peaceful dead.

The youth you mourn, far from these scenes of woe,
To worlds of never-ending joy is flown;
Where his blest bosom with delight shall glow,
And his fair temples wear a princely crown.

Ah then, presumptuous! question not the skies,
Nor more with vain laments his loss deplore;
Attend to this, and cease your fruitless sighs,