The powers of Harmony are mute, Yet stay, O! stay, celestial pow'rs, watch with me his last expiring breath, And snatch him from the arms of dark, oblivious death. Hark the fatal Sisters [74] join, And with Horror's mutt'ring sounds, Weave the tissue of his line, While the dreadful spell resounds. "O'er the glory of the land, "O'er the innocent and gay, "Weave the fun'ral web of Gray." [74] The Fatal Sisters, an Ode. "Tis done, 'tis done the iron hand of pain, He sinks, he groans, he falls a lifeless corse. Ye sacred sisters of the plaintive verse, Now let the stream of fond affection flow; Oft when the Curfew tolls its parting knell O'er his green grave, in Contemplation's guise, [75] Elegy in a Country Church-Yard. |