that dreadful day,
    Boasted their wealth, its vanity shall know
    In the dread avenue of endless woe: 
    While they whom moderation’s wholesome rule
    Kept still unstain’d in Virtue’s heavenly school,
    Who the calm sunshine of the soul beneath
    Enjoy’d, will share the triumph of the Faith.

    These pageants five the world and I beheld,
    The sixth and last, I hope, in heaven reveal’d
    (If Heaven so will), when Time with speedy hand
    The scene despoils, and Death’s funereal wand
    The triumph leads.  But soon they both shall fall
    Under that mighty hand that governs all,
    While they who toil for true renown below,
    Whom envious Time and Death, a mightier foe,
    Relentless plunged in dark oblivion’s womb,
    When virtue seem’d to seek the silent tomb,
    Spoil’d of her heavenly charms once more shall rise,
    Regain their beauty, and assert the skies;
    Leaving the dark sojourn of time beneath,
    And the wide desolated realms of Death. 
    But she will early seek these glorious bounds,
    Whose long-lamented fall the world resounds
    In unison with me.  And heaven will view
    That awful day her heavenly charms renew,
    When soul with body joins.  Gebenna’s strand
    Saw me enroll’d in Love’s devoted band,
    And mark’d my toils through many hard campaigns
    And wounds, whose scars my memory yet retains. 
    Blest is the pile that marks the hallow’d dust!—­
    There, at the resurrection of the just,
    When the last trumpet with earth-shaking sound
    Shall wake her sleepers from their couch profound;
    Then, when that spotless and immortal mind
    In a material mould once more enshrined,
    With wonted charms shall wake seraphic love,
    How will the beatific sight improve
    Her heavenly beauties in the climes above!

    BOYD.

[LINES 82-99.]

      Happy those souls who now are on their way,
    Or shall hereafter, to attain that end,
    Theme of my argument, come when it will;
    And, ’midst the other fair, and fraught with grace,
    Most happy she whom Death has snatch’d away,
    On this side far the natural bound of life. 
    The angel manners then will clearly shine,
    The meet and pure discourse, the chasten’d thought,
    Which nature planted in her youthful breast. 
    Unnumber’d beauties, worn by time and death,
    Shall then return to their best state of bloom;
    And how thou hast bound me, love, will then be seen,
    Whence I by every finger shall be shown!—­
    Behold who ever wept, and in his tears
    Was happier far than others in their smiles! 
    And she, of whom I yet lamenting sing,
    Shall wonder at her own transcendant charms,
    Seeing herself far above all admired.

    CHARLEMONT.