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Still shall Maria's sainted form be nigh, 

 And dove-ey'd Pity heave her tender sigh ! 



O! if there be some valley deep retir'd, 

 Some sacred spot by Innocence desir'd, 

 Untrod by Envy, Jealousy, and Strife, 

 Unknown, unruffled by the storms of life, 

 There, let us celebrate, from tumult free, 

 A fete as pure and innocent as thee ! 

 Thence let us banish all the empty shew, 

 Unfeeling pomp and ornament of woe. 

 There blooming maids with wreaths of cypress crown'd, 

 Shall oft assemble on the hallow'd ground, 

 When summer suns unfold the buds of spring, 

 And scattering roses o'er thy urn shall sing. 



" Hail, nymph belov'd !" shall chant the virgin choir, 

 " Hail ! of our sex, the honour, grace, desire !" 



" Time, which destroys, renews fair Nature's face, 

 Repaints each hue, retouches every grace, 

 Recalls the zephyr, renovates the bower, 

 Again resuscitates the faded flower, 

 Ne'er shall record upon the sculptor'd shrine 

 More soft and lovely traits than once were thine ! 



" Hope of thy parents ! glory of thy age, 

 What anguish could thy angel look assuage ! 

 Bright as the morning star in beauty drest, 

 Thy charms attracted every feeling breast! 

 In thy warm heart those soft sensations stole, 

 Which, unperceiv'd, too oft enthral the soul ; 

 Honour and love, another's fame to save, 

 Led thee, a victim, to th' untimely grave ! 



" Adieu, sweet nymph, adieu ! may thy blest shade 

 Sometimes revisit this sequester'd glade ! 



