- In thee I fondly hoped to clasp
- A friend whom death alone could sever;
- Till envy, with malignant grasp,
- Detachd thee from my breast for ever.
- True, she has forced thee from my breast,
- Yet in my heart thou keepst thy seat;
- There, there thine image still must rest,
- Until that heart shall cease to beat.
- And when the grave restored her dead,
- When life again to dust is given,
- On thy dear breast Ill lay my head
- Without thee where would be my heaven?
|