Sonnet to the Memory of Miss Maria Linley

So bends beneath the storm yon balmy flow'r, Whose spicy blossoms once perfum'd the gale; So press'd with tears reclines yon lily pale, Obedient to the rude and beating show'r.

Still is the LARK, that hov'ring o'er yon spray, With jocund carol usher'd in the morn; And mute the NIGHTINGALE, whose tender lay Melted the feeling mind with sounds forlorn:

More sweet, MARIA, was thy plaintive strain! That strain is o'er; but mem'ry ne'er shall fade, When erst it cheer'd grey twilight's dreary shade, And charm'd the sorrow-stricken soul from pain; STILL, STILL, melodious maid, thy dulcet song Shall breathe, immortal, on an ANGEL'S TONGUE!