Theodosia

In the Morning Star.

The fatal and perfidious barque!
Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark,
That sunk so low that angel form of thine!

The morning star, resplendent in the east,
May be our station, when from life released,

Tempestuous cape! how fatal proved the day
When from thy shores the faithless ship withdrew,
Yet, prosperous gales impell'd her on her way
Till the broad canvas vanish'd from the view.

Long on that height the pensive friends remain'd
Till ocean's curve conceal'd her from the eye,
And all was hope that she her port attain'd
Ere ten more suns illumed the morning sky.

Fond friends! false hope! no port beheld her come
With flowing sheet, to meet the pilot's sail:
No pilot met her on the Atlantic foam—
What could the pilot, or his art, avail?

Detested barque! nor art thou yet arrived—
Nor wilt thou come! three years are roll'd away!
You, Theodosia of her life deprived,
You sunk her from the cheerful beams of day!

Where dost thou rest, with her whose genius rose
Above her sex—for science so renown'd—
But does her spirit in the deep repose
Or find new mansions on celestial ground?

That soars above to heights unknown before,
Where all is joy, and life that never ends;
Where all is rapture, all admire, adore;
Immortal nature, with angelic friends.

Oh! shed no more the tears of sad regret;
The hymns of joy, the lofty verse prepare—
Her briny doom, the ingulphing wave forget
For Theodosia in the Morning Star.