INSCRIPTION ON A TOMBSTONE IN THE CHURCHYARD OF YOUGHAL, OF ANNE MARIA
CAREW, AGED 24.
’Tis ever thus, ’tis ever thus, when hope hath built a bow’r
Like that of Eden, wreathed about with many a thornless flow’r,
To dwell therein securely, the self-deceivers trust--
A whirlwind from the desert comes, and all is in the dust.
’Tis ever thus, ’tis ever thus, that when the poor heart clings
With all its finest tendrils, with all its flexile rings,
That goodly thing it cleaveth to so fondly and so fast,
Is struck to earth by lightning, or shattered by the blast.
’Tis ever thus, ’tis ever thus, with beams of mortal bliss,
With looks too bright and beautiful for such a world as this,
One moment round about us their angel light wings play;
Then down the veil of darkness drops, and all is passed away.
’Tis ever thus, ’tis ever thus, with creatures heavenly fair,
Too finely formed to bear the brunt more earthly natures bear--
A little while they dwell with us, blest ministers of love,
Then spread the wings we had not seen, and seek their homes above.
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