On the DEATH of a FRIEND. Mary Robinson (née Darby) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T100118 Robinson, Mary, 1758-1800. Poems by Mrs. Robinson [poems only]. London Printed for C. Parker, the Upper Part of New Bond-Street 1775 pp. 53-57. [8],134p.,plate; 8⁰.

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On the DEATH of a FRIEND . Adieu , dear Emma ; — now , alas ! no more , Deaths icy hand , hath chill'd thy tender frame , In endless sighs , the loss I will deplore , Revere thy memory , and exalt thy name . Let soft humanity incline an ear , Let gentle pity listen to my song , Let every tender bosom grant a tear , And Emma's virtues , flow from every tongue . Her heart was faithful , and her soul sincere , Her temper gentle as the turtle dove , In person beauteous , and in judgment clear , Inspir'd by virtue , and sustain'd by love . Her conscious soul unknowing how to feign , Was true to honor , and it's sacred laws , Her tender bosom felt another's pain , And glow'd with fervent zeal , in friendship's cause . And yet , alas ! these virtues could not save , For one short moment , the departing breath , Fate had decreed this victim to the grave , And all must yield to the cold arms of death . Then what avails my misery and grief , Can it to life the heavenly maid restore , Can tears or wishes now afford relief , Or give me back the treasure I deplore . Can earthly sorrow add one joy to those , Whose pure delight exceeds all human thought , Can weak mortality afford repose , Greater than that , with which thy soul is fraught . Yet friendship , says , the strain , I must prolong , Her virtues still demand a generous tear , They still require the tributary song , A faithful friend her mem'ry to revere . While I have life , or memory , or sense , To Emma's kindred shrine my praise is due , Her soul was guided by pure innocence , Nor envy , nor deceit , her bosom knew . She was the first to sing in virtue's praise , To cherish truth in every tender breast , And teach the young to tread the potent ways , Which lead to glory , and eternal rest . Alas ! ye gay , consider well her fate , Remember life is but a fleeting day , Howe'er with affluence bless'd , or soon , or late , Death's cruel summons we must all obey . Be innocent , be chaste , from folly free , In this precarious life serenely move , Submit with patience to just heaven's decree , Be firm in friendship , and sincere in love . Let sacred honour guide your erring feet , With kind compassion , and with grace divine , Let every virtue in your bosoms meet , And meek humility , with wisdom join . Content , like Emma , in an humble state , Seek not for grandeur , or vain pageantry , Nor yet with envious eye behold the great ; The beggar , and the prince , alike must die . Then , ah ! farewell , my gen'rous , honour'd friend , Accept the tear , to thy remembrance due , Till memory and feeling has an end , Nor worldly pleasures shall my grief subdue . May kindred angels waft thy soul to rest , May all thy merit meet it's full reward , May you be number'd with the pure and blest , And Emma's spirit be Maria's guard .