Ode, Sacred To The Memory Of Mrs. Oswald Of Auchencruive
she goes, unpitied and u,
she goes, but not to realms of eversti!
antistrophe
plunderer of armies! lift thine eyes,
(a while forbear, ye t fiends;)
seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither bends?
no fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies;
'tis thy trusty quondam mate,
doom'd to share thy fiery fate;
she, tardy, hell-lies.
epode
and are they of no more avail,
ten thousand glittering pounds a-year?
in other worlds mammon fail,
omnipotent as he is here!
o, bitter mockery of the pompous bier,
while down the wretched vital part is d
Ode, Sacred To The Memory Of Mrs. Oswald Of Auchencruive(2/3)