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Poem by Margaret Chalmers
Verses, on the Death of the Princess Amelia
DREARY November! now thy gloom, In heighten'd gloom is darker roll'd, Thy wintry wing, The tidings bring, Which fair Amelia's fate unfold. Each varied object, every sound To vibrate with our feelings seems, A deepening gloom O'ershades the room, And dimly gleam the taper's beams. The bleak wind whistles shrill around, And while the hollow murmurs wave, In every swell Is heard a knell, Which whispers of Amelia's grave. In sympathetic mood we list The sullen billows dash the shore, Tho' rude the dirge, The sounding surge The Royal fair seems to deplore. Sweet sufferer! thy warfare's past, Thou now hast gain'd the happy shore; Thy race is run, The prize is won, Sorrow and sighing are no more. Proud of thy gentle merit, long Shall thy Britannia love to tell; On patience mild, Thro' pain that smil'd, Shall memory delighted dwell. Thou sympathizing Mary, who To Windsor led the drooping fair, There, in the shade And balmy glade, To court the aid of purer air. Whilst, as in all endearing meed, (Hung o'er the couch of sickness) thou Even from pain's smart Didst steal a part, Blunting his arrows as they flew. With tender look and soothing voice, His force essaying to beguile; And when he sent A truce, was lent The languid interval a smile. Ye, Royal Mourners, wipe your tears, Or rather let them soften'd flow; O raise your eyes Beyond the skies, Thence thro' the heart shall, comfort glow. Open the heavenly portals fly, Where, welcom'd by Redeeming love, By suffering try'd, Now glorified, An angel joins the blest above.
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