Alexandria Gazette & Advertiser

POETRY.

From the Baltimore Morning Chronicle.

LINES
To the memory of an unfortunate lady, who
was drowned in the Albion off the Irish
coast.

Fair is that form—but what a pillow,
Alas, it is the sea green billow!
It lingers there—the fingers white
Upon the snowy surges light.

In slumbers gentle, soft and meek,
Reposes that unconscious cheek,
As though it waited morning's ray
To return the smile of day.

Loose flows the drapery so fair,
And those long curls of auburn hair
Arise and sink upon the deep,
Betokening calm and quiet sleep.

Thus, some pure spirit when forgiven,
Sinks to repose and dreams of Heaven.
Amidst the ruin raging round,
Thy sleep is tranquil, deep and sound;

Here pity, 'midst a scene so dread,
Rolls the soft pillow for thy head,
Composes every limb of thine,
Mingling her sorrows with the brine.

The howling tempest is in fear,
To rave and show his anger here—
It is a consecrated spot,
He dares not with a frown to blot;

This ruthless demon of the surge,
Howl'd to the Heav'ns thy funeral dirge,
'Tis done—he seems to intercede.
And now stands trembling at the deed.

Softly the silvery surges creep.
And gently touch the maiden's sleep,
And humble at thy feet are cast,
Imploring pardon for the past.

Amidst the horrors of the scene,
Bright Erin with her hills of green,
And sprinkled o'er with bloomy heath.
Rose lovely on the glance of death.

Strangers with pity in their eyes,
Trembling, behind thee fall and rise,
When lovely maiden thou did'st pray,
To him, whom roaring seas obey;

Thou to their vision did'st appear,
A spirit from the heavenly sphere—
A stranger guest, whose lovely form,
Sunk down and lighted on the storm,

Around thy peaceful couch shall stray,
The village maids at close of day,
And decorate thy long repose,
With Erin's brightest, sweetest rose.

Thou spirit mingled with the just,
While pity watches o'er thy dust,
And guards thee with her dewy wing,
Accept the tribute strangers bring.

Baltimore, June 3, 1822.