Page:Poems and extracts - Wordsworth.djvu/47

 For when to Shades of Death our joys are fled, When for a loss, like this, our tears are shed, None can revive the heart but who can raise the dead!

But yet, my Muse, if thou hast softer verse, Than e'er bewail'd the melancholy herse; If thou hast power to dissipate the gloom Inherent to the solitary tomb; To rescue thence the memory and air Of what we lately saw so fresh and fair; Then should this noble youth thy art engage To shew the beauties of his blooming age, The pleasing light that from his eyes was cast Like hasty beams too vigorous to last; Where the warm soul, as on the confines lay, Ready for flight, and for eternal day. Gently disposed his nature should be shown And all his Mother's sweetness made his own. Rh