LINES TO THE MEMORY OF MY DEAR BROTHER,

W.T.P. CARR, ESQ.


--manibus date lilia plenis:
Purpureos spargam flores.

_Aeneid_, lib. vi.


Tho' no funereal grandeur swell my song,
Nor genius, eagle-plum'd, the strain prolong,--
Tho' Grief and Nature here alone combine
To weep, my William! o'er a fate like thine,--
Yet thy fond pray'r, still ling'ring on my ear,
Shall force its way thro' many a gushing tear:
The Muse, that saw thy op'ning beauties spread,
That lov'd thee living, shall lament thee dead!
Ye graceful Virtues! while the note I breathe,
Of sweetest flow'rs entwine a fun'ral wreath,--
Of virgin flow'rs, and place them round his tomb,
To bud, like him, and perish in their bloom!
Ah! when these eyes saw thee serenely wait
The last long separating stroke of Fate,--
When round thy bed a kindred weeping train
Call'd on thy voice to greet them, but in vain,--
When o'er thy lips we watch'd thy fault'ring breath--
When louder grief proclaim'd th'approach of death,--
Thro' ev'ry vein an icy horror chill'd,