On Reading In A Newspaper The Death Of John M'Leod, Esq. Brother To A Young Lady, A Particular Friend Of The Author's.

Sad thy tale, thou idle page,             And rueful thy alarms:         Death tears the brother of her love             From Isabella's arms.         Sweetly deck'd with pearly dew             The morning rose may blow;         But cold successive noontide blasts             May lay its beauties low.         Fair on Isabella's morn             The sun propitious smil'd;         But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds             Succeeding hopes beguil'd.         Fate oft tears the bosom chords             That nature finest strung:         So Isabella's heart was form'd,             And so that heart was wrung.         Were it in the poet's power,             Strong as he shares the grief         That pierces Isabella's heart,             To give that heart relief!         Dread Omnipotence, alone,             Can heal the wound He gave;         Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes             To scenes beyond the grave.         Virtue's blossoms there shall blow,             And fear no withering blast;         There Isabella's spotless worth             Shall happy be at last.