To love, than rank with vice combin'd.

And though unequal is _thy_ fate,
Since title deck'd my higher birth;
Yet envy not this gaudy state,
_Thine_ is the pride of modest worth.

Our _souls_ at least congenial meet,
Nor can _thy_ lot _my_ rank disgrace;
Our intercourse is not less sweet,
Since worth of rank supplies the place.

_November_, 1802.

* * * * *

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY, COUSIN TO THE AUTHOR AND VERY DEAR TO
HIM.

* * * * *

Hush'd are the winds, and still the evening gloom,
Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove,
Whilst I return to view my Margaret's tomb,
And scatter flowers on the dust I love.

2.

Within this narrow cell reclines her clay,
That clay where once such animation beam'd;